


Not to be

by LadyLithaelSirux



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Does it count as slow burn when they are trying to reconcile?, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Mpreg, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Not in linear order, Slow Burn, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin can't keep it in his pants, somewhat screwed around with the dates Bella is young lets say 37 years old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:31:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5676235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLithaelSirux/pseuds/LadyLithaelSirux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bella goes back to the Shire, Thorin chases after her, misunderstandings and understandings occur</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta read. Not really a fan of Mpreg.  
> The italicized is Thranduil's and Bard's P.O.V. respectively originally it was supposed to be Bella's alone but the two sexy single dads snuck into my head. 
> 
> Inspired by: Hurricanes in Hertford, Hereford, and Hampshire by 61Below

 The Battle of the five armies is over, Thorin is alive, Fili and Kili are alive and Bella thinks she is in danger. She does not know whether Thorin has truly recovered from the gold sickness and can’t afford to find out. Oh she could return to his side she would not hesitate to risk herself not at all. She has returned before, and again and again. She would return, it is not courage she lacks, but she isn’t just risking herself now, if she dares to face him and he has not forgiven her. She will endanger more than just herself the punishment will not be hers alone. Belladonna Baggins fifteenth member and hired burglar of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield has stolen more than just the Arkenstone. So Bella runs back from whence she came like the coward she is, like the thieving useless _loveless_ thief she is said to be. She does not make the journey alone; Gandalf comes with her. Bard supplies her with the necessary paraphernalia to make the journey back home and persuades her before she leaves to take a small chest that can be tucked under one arm, Bard's wife's glory box (It hurts her thinking about it not because of Bard but her own mother has glory box waiting for her at home. How can she forget? Kili scaped his boots on it) The box is crammed to bursting with gems and gold. Bella almost refuses; the sight of gold makes her sick to her stomach now. But Bard insists that she should take something since she has traded her 15th share for them; had given it up without a second thought for the lives of men and dwarves and by extent for the lives of elves too.

In Bard’s private opinion, she has given up more than gold, for those who did not deserve it. He resents how fast she had to leave without the honor due to her without fame and only a little fortune. He will not forget Belladonna Baggins anytime soon, nor her leave taking.

 _The hobbit lass’s eyes are haunted and dark. She startles at every small noise, and her eyes keep flitting around as if she expects the very shadows to attack her._   _She has everything she needs to make it back to Rivendell, it eases his conscience that the Grey Wizard is accompanying her. Gandalf has told him she may not be safe here; that despite all she has done the Bella is not yet safe from danger. He resents it and resents those that would endanger her. He tells Gandalf and Bella that he would shelter them both. He’ll even use his new found (and grudgingly accepted) status as King of Dale to protect them. Thorin would not be that much of a stupid blockhead to risk another war over one Hobbit lass. But Bella insists that she needs to return home; she has been far from home for long enough. He can’t blame her but his moral code will not allow her to walk away without some reward._

_“This was my wife’s old glory box; I filled it with the treasures of Dale. Please take it. I would give it to you though it is poor compensation for what you have lost.” he pleads at her with his eyes._

_How can she say no to that?_

The treasure ends up being useful anyway to Bella. She gives necklaces of large and fine emeralds to Thranduil spinning some yarn about how they remind her about the color of Greenwood's leaves. The necklaces are in as much as to recompense him for jail breaking his prisoners from under his nose and as payment for treating Thorin, Fili and Kili when she begged.  
Bella remembers how the elf king had stared at her, and how he had flinched. She wonders what he thought.

_The hobbit lass is a miserable pitiful creature. She is barefoot and dressed in dirty ragged clothes and a sword belted to her hip. Her head is bleeding so are her eyes. They are bleeding tears in her eyes Thranduil can see the bleeding of her heart the utter misery and raw pain in them. She should not look like this. Thranduil is shaken to his core; she should not remind him of himself when he held his star, his sun and heart, his wife Elerrian, she who shone so brightly, dull and dead in his arms._

_"You would beg for the lives of those who cast you away? For those who would have killed you as you spoke for their defense?” The elf king asks her startled almost afraid of the Hobbit lass who has dropped to her knees in begging him to heal the last of Durin’s line._

_She laughs mad wild mirthless laugh as humorous as a scream of agony, it makes him flinch._

“Yes” _she hisses. “Of course I would you poncey elf. Now save them!”_

_How can he say no to that?_

Does she feel vaguely ashamed of how she begged and pleaded?

No she doesn’t; even now when she has all the time in the world to second guess herself. All the time in the world to look back at what she’s done think on what she could have done differently she does not regret that.

She does not regret leaving as soon as she could and is infinitely grateful Gandalf has accompanied her. The journey passes fortunately without incident.                                  

It is only when they are close to Rivendell that the symptoms of her condition start to show themselves and Gandalf notices and knows immediately. Gandalf waits decently till it is evening; they have eaten and are done setting up camp for the night. He does not ask for the father he knows who the father is. He only wants to know how she has no choice but to tell him. The whole story comes spilling out; at the end of it, her eyes are wet and her voice is hoarse. Gandalf has pulled her roughly into his arms and mutters curses in Hobbitish against her hair. It almost makes her smile. Bella is certain that her mother was the one who taught Gandalf how to swear like that; but when Gandalf released her and turned his gaze on her the inclination sours and turns into a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach.

“When?” He demands; he does not need to explain himself, Bella knows what he is asking for. She finds the answer spilling out of her.                                                          

"After the day I opened the door, after the night Smaug fell out of the sky, it was the time when I was so certain it was all over, it had to be over that it was the end of it all so it had to be the beginning of everything.” Her voice rose in a fevered pitch and she could not stop herself, it was almost a cry.

“It was before the madness, or during the start. The hardest part was watching him descend into madness when I thought I could save him, I thought we had everything Gandalf! I tried to save him. I could not; that was when.”

His face is stricken and she ducks her head she does not want his pity, does not need it; anger flares up unexpectedly she does not deserve it. She tells him so, raising her head proud Baggins girl she is, daughter of a Took. He sighs shakily.

“You’re quite right my dear girl, but now we are stuck with a decision to make, I am most certain that Lord Elrond will offer you his hospitality for as long as you need it, or would you rather continue on back to the Shire at the fastest convenience?”

She knows what he is really asking. _Are you going to have the baby in the Shire or in Rivendell?_

She answers.

“I think it would be best for me to stay in Rivendell for as long as Lord Elrond will allow it.”

Gandalf nods. “Wise choice my dear.” He says.

There is no more talk, nothing more to be said. Gandalf and Bella lie down to sleep; come morning they will continue on to Rivendell.

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I redid Bella's answer to when at least 5 times before 'eh screw it, this is ok'  
> Next stop is Rivendell!


	2. Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're in Rivendell

It is late afternoon when they reach the Last Homely House East of the Sea. Rivendell is just as beautiful as she remembered; but even more heartbreaking. She can remember the first time she was here; the towering spires, tall houses and pavilions carved into smooth stone; the gushing graceful fountains. She remembers the way the soft sunlight bathed everything in a warm buttery golden glow. She remembers too much to put into words and things she would rather not remember.

Bella hopes Lord Elrond will welcome her warmly; although Gandalf assures her he will it does not entirely negate the uneasy feeling she has. It isn’t Elrond’s hospitality that has her nervous. It is just that she is a single unwedded mother to be. She knows that if she goes back to the Shire; what names will be whispered behind her back. _Slattern. Whore. Tramp._ Will those words be whispered here in Rivendell too? If not will she see them spelled out in their eyes? And the baby, her baby that is half dwarf and half hobbit; and isn’t that damn hilarious? Her baby born out of wedlock will be a half-breed, a _Halfling_. What will they think of it? But she has no choice does she? Although she isn’t so far gone she can’t travel anymore yet. It would be safer; much safer to give birth in Rivendell than in the Shire; with the Elves having centuries worth of medical knowledge and healing magic. But still Bella is a hobbit, and while her babe is neither fully hobbit nor dwarf the babe is most certainly not _elf._  Even if they are received warmly; she and her child will not truly belong here, not really.

Gandalf watches her and he understands. He can see her fears written plainly on her face; fears that should never have been there in the first place. He knows nothing he says will erase them. Nothing he can do will placate her. And not for the first time he wishes he could give that thrice-damned confounded _criven_ of a dwarf a piece of his mind. Maybe he could get one of the eagles of Manwë to conveniently pick the dwarf up and drop him, just like that; from a height as tall as the Lonely Mountain over a very cold frozen lake containing flesh eating fish, large carnivorous _hungry_ flesh eating fish, with very sharp teeth.

“Gandalf” Bella says quietly and it breaks the wizard out of his thoughts. They have crossed the narrow bridge and into the Elrond’s courtyard. Elrond himself is there to greet them along with Lindir at his side. No one else and Bella is actually quite glad for the small welcoming committee (and this time they aren’t surrounded by horses and elves in armor)

Elrond welcomes Gandalf with an embrace and respectfully bows his head to her. Ingrained manners carved there by Baggins' good breeding have her to curtsy in return.

“My friends welcome again to Rivendell, your rooms will have been prepared for you. Rest and refreshen you may stay in my house as long as you need to.” said Elrond.The elf lord’s eyes go over her; over her already noticeable bulge and his eyes widen that is the only show of surprise he gives and Lindir has also noticed. He blinks once and again as if clearing his eyes but like his lord he does not say anything.

“Thank you my Lord.” Bella says faintly.  
“Yes thank you.” Gandalf says gruffly and distractedly. He was only half listening to what Bella said. His own eyes have narrowed ever so slightly in suspicion. Elrond acts like he knew they were coming and perhaps he does. Perhaps his scouts have seen them and reported without ever revealing their presence to Gandalf; or perhaps Elrond had already seen them in that far sight of his.  
     

“I am—we are grateful for your hospitality once again, My Lord.” Bella says haltingly. She had seen the way he looked. She knows that he knows; there is no way he cannot know. No way anyone cannot miss it; and something quite like shame makes her heart burn from it.

“I suppose an explanation is in order.” Bella says with false bravado.

“I’ll tell him. You go and rest Bella you need it.” said Gandalf.

She looks up hesitantly at the wizard who makes a little shooing motion.

“Go; you can trust me to be discrete in retelling an accurate description of the quest.”

Bella hesitates, she knows she can trust the wizard and Lord Elrond does have a right to a faithful retelling of the quest and certain facts about her circumstance. He has assisted them most helpfully and she is there again asking for his assistance in a matter that has nothing to do with the grand scheme of Middle Earth (or so she hopes). But her Baggin’s good breeding won’t let her leave just yet.

“I am sorry we must impose on you like this.” She says softly.

“There is no need to be sorry.” Elrond insists.

“You will always be welcome at Rivendell, Belladonna Baggins.” His eyes are kind and Bella ducks her head. She sees no disgust in them no refute, no pity either, only sincerity and sympathy. Somehow that makes it feel a little worse.

Elrond gestures at Lindir and the elf takes it was his cue to lead Bella away.

“If you would follow me Lady Baggins.” Bella casts one last worried look at Gandalf. He smiles reassuringly at her. She does not quite smile back but she does follow Lindir without complaint or reluctance. Gandalf waits till Bella is out of earshot and out of sight before he turns back to Elrond’s now expectant expression. The wizard sighs once long and slow.

“Well I suppose an explanation really is in order."  
  
They give her the same room they had when she first stayed. Bella remembers the way there even without Lindir’s help; but he insists on accompanying her anyway. She declines his offer to have someone help her bathe and leaves her only after she insists she is capable of taking care of herself.

“There will be clothes set out for you on the bed when you have finished, do not hesitate to ask for assistance if you need it.” Lindir says as his passing remark before he finally, finally leaves her alone to bathe.

Bella strips off her grimy clothes and sinks into the warm bath with a sigh. It’s a luxury to be clean again. For a moment all she can do is just sit there in the comfortable warmth. She has not had a proper bath since…since _Laketown_ and—

Bella lunges for the shampoo and almost claws her scalp as she more roughly then is needed washes out the dirt, sweat and who knows what else in her hair. Bella keeps her hands busy her mind firmly off anything but the heat and the soap and the water in the bath but stops when it comes to her belly. Her hands gentle and stop. She stares at the rounded swell of herself, and very gingerly lays her hands flat on it. This is; the first time she has examined herself ( _and him or her_ ) in comfort and peace. This is the first time she can just stop and take a look at the completely naked tautly swollen part of herself that is currently habiting; forming a new life. _This is my baby._ She thinks. _This is my baby and no one else’s._ No one. Abruptly she has to bury her face in her hands or else she will _scream._ _How on the whole of Middle Earth can she raise this child alone?!_  
The baby as if in answer to her distress kicks once and she moves a hand to where the baby has kicked. Completely breathless to see if he or she will do it again; but no; the baby stills and does not move but she can feel him or her warm, alive and just there.

What she is feeling now is _not_ regret. She swears it will never be regret. If she must raise the baby completely on her own she _will_ and she will do it _right_.

Bella sighs softly to herself and finishes scrubbing herself down, gently this time; when she is done the water has already cooled. Bella hauls herself out of the bath briskly dries herself off before pading into the room where Lindir had said the clothes would be on the bed.  
They have given her a dress of cool green silk and she realizes they have tailored it to accommodate her stomach. When her eyes water she tells herself it is just because of the hormones.

Dinner had been a quiet affair and Bella had been glad that for once that she could actually keep something down. They had not talked much; Bella suspected that Gandalf and Lord Elrond already talked amongst themselves. She had taken full advantage of the calm quiet to tuck in properly into her food.  
Now they were settled in Lord Elrond’s parlor; a large comfortable room furnished with soft cozy chairs; warm rugs and a blazing fire place. Lord Elrond had given her the warmest seat. The three of them were alone in the room comfortably sipping at goblets of wine (grape juice for Bella). She was beginning to feel drowsy when Lord Elrond turned to her and said.

"There are some things I would like to ask you. You need not answer me if you do not desire to; but I ask you to join me for a little while where we may talk in private.”

“I will answer your questions if I can my Lord.” Bella answered politely.  
 

“He didn’t know did he? About your condition before he banished you; Gandalf tells me he didn’t but I would still like to hear the confirmation from you.” Gandalf scowls at Lord Elrond and the elf ignores him.

“No, he didn’t I didn’t tell him.” Bella answered. “When I knew that I was expectant I left as soon as I could. I told no one.”

“You carry the future princess or prince of Durin’s line. When the baby is born…will you tell him? Will you go back to him?”

Bella blanched “ _No!_ I—I can’t! If he hasn’t forgiven me; if I am still considered a traitor; I…I cannot expose my child to that! No I will not go back to him.” She shook her head wildly.

“But do you know what’s sad?” She near whispered. “There is a rather stupid part of me _wants_ to go back; if not for him but for Fili and Kili and all the rest of them. I want to make sure they are alive! I want to see them with my own eyes. Even if they had not forgiven me; even if they would not understand what I had done—I would have gone back to them if I could if…if not for the baby.” She admits quietly.

“And you did, you did go back to them once; despite my advice.” Gandalf says sourly.

“Yes I did; didn’t I?” She gave a watery slightly hysterical laugh. “Right after I just handed the Arkenstone to his enemies _I came back_.” There is an awkward pause of silence and Bella sighs softly.

“If they find me and my baby they may try to take my child away from me.”

Bella raises her head remembering the promise she made to herself and to the life within her. Her voice turns dark and dangerous. She has fought through a horde of goblins, broken out of an elf king’s jail and riddled a dragon. She is Luck Wearer; Barrel Rider; and Stinging Fly. _No one_ will take her baby from her, not on her life.

“I will not tell him.” _He lost his child the day he lost me_. “I will keep my child’s sire a secret as long as I can; if not for my own selfishness then for the babe’s own safety as well. I will raise my baby myself. I will keep this life within me safe at all cost.” No one argues with her; she notes with satisfaction.

“Then your secret will be safe with me.” Lord Elrond promises. 

“As it is with me.” Said Gandalf. He sighed softly. “Arrangements will have to be made. Precautions to take; people will talk you know. When you go back to the Shire carrying a babe they will realize is obviously not fully hobbit; they will talk. Your neighbors, your relatives; your people can be such gossips at times.”

“Let them talk.” Bella said dismissively. “My people can be real gossips I acknowledge that but I’m fairly certain none of it will spread beyond Shire borders.” She smiled bitterly.  
“It wouldn’t be proper.” Bella explained.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Criven’ is a swear word the NacmacFeegle of Terry Pratchet’s “Wee Free Men” use. I like it. Pretend it’s hobbitish. As for its meaning let’s assume it’s something akin to bastard for now. But if anyone as any suggestions or corrections I am open to them.


	3. Elves love babies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elves (at least Elrond) love babies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. It’s my head cannon that all the elves are baby mad since their birth rate is so low.

Whatever arrangements and precautions that needed to be made could be made later on; Gandalf decided. It was late now and such matters would be better dealt with after a good night’s sleep. Bella had whole heartedly agreed, she was full, she was clean, she was immensely sleepy; but Lord Elrond hesitated to dismiss them.

“If you would not mind my Lady, may I examine the baby?” Lord Elrond asked in a manner if it was anyone else Bella would have said it was shy.

Bella nodded her consent, in the background Gandalf rolled his eyes. She would have cast him a questioning look but Lord Elrond had knelt before her and very gingerly laid his hands on her baby bump. The expression that came over him could only have been described as a look of pure _wonder_. He was almost afraid to touch her she realized. His fingertips barely brushed the swell of her stomach his touch was gentle oh so very gentle on the cool green cloth of her dress.

The elf lord sighed as if he was holding a holy relic; fragile and infinitely valuable rather than the just the swell of an unborn child out of wedlock. He smiled and his eyes went wide. It was unmistakably that wide eyed _bovine_ look it was almost _worship_. His wonder made him look young she realized. The wonder and rapt awe reminded her of the way fauntlings would look at fireworks painting the night sky; or holding a sprouting seedling first time in their hands. It was so childish, so sincere and warm Bella felt tears prickling her eyes.

It was the right look; but it was the wrong person, wrong place and wrong time.

“There has not been a birth in Rivendell for nigh on decades.” Elrond murmured softly. His attention still full centered on the baby bump. His hands now splayed out across her belly. He looked up at her his expression pleading.

“May I?” he tilted his head to her stomach.

“Of course.” She murmured quietly afraid her voice would betray her and the emotion hammering her heart out of her chest.  
Elrond rested his head against the taunt swell his ear across the thin fabric. A smile split across his face; Bella had never seen him smile like that before. She remembered then that he was also a father. That he had children; Lord Elrond raised his head to look at her. There was a serious fierce look in his eye she was almost startled by its intensity.

“You and your child will be safe for as long as I can give you aid my Lady. This I swear.” He promised her.

She smiled, rested one of her hands over his. She recognized the fierceness in his eyes; it was something all parents must have possessed or those with a partiality for children, a protective instinct.

“Again my Lord thank you. You have given me more than I ever asked for I—I do not know how I can repay you.”

“There is no need Bella.” He waved her thanks away. She ducked her head again to hide her expression.

Her heart was full and bursting; oh it hurt for the moment where she was could not have been more right and yet more wrong. She still missed him despite everything; she still missed him. It was a profound moment; one that was soft and warm but also pained and…and she had to stifle a yawn.

“You are tired.” Lord Elrond noted. “I have kept you up too late. Come I will escort you back to your rooms.”

It was like with Lindir all over again only this time Lord Elrond was much harder to shoo. One she could not brush him off because he was her host and she his guest. Two there was no polite way to tell a centuries old elf lord that all this fuss wasn’t necessary and simply go away shoo please; she wanted to be alone. But finally they have left her in peace. Bella changes from her soft green dress to an even softer nightgown. Her belly is so distended she can no longer lie on her back and has to curl on her side for sleep.

Perhaps she was too hasty in shooing them away or in going to sleep despite her earlier tiredness, sleep will not take her. For now that she is in a soft bed all alone in the dark; she cannot stop thoughts unbidden from swarming around in her head.

She might as well be a widow now; no even a window would not carry the shame people will foist upon her now. What would her parent think? What would her parents have thought if they could see her now as she is? Although perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad; her own mother had commented she had been pregnant with Bella during the marriage ceremony. It was just that her baby bump was not so far gone yet. Her own parent’s marriage and courtship was not the ideal nor _respectable_ one that hobbit parents would wish for their own fauntlings.

It took her grandfather Isengrim being held by frying pan point by her father; a failed elopement across Brandywine River, one pregnancy announcement, the construction of Bag End before Isengrim gave his grudging consent for the two to get married. It was still being talked about.

_You carry the future princess or prince of Durin’s line_. Lord Elrond had said. And she did, didn’t she? Only he would never know it and if she could keep it that way she would.

She had only met two king, three (well a king to be at least) if one counted Bard in. She did not like what she saw. Perhaps she was biased and misinformed, because one of the kings was _him_ , and the other was an elf who had most likely lived through the Second Age if at least the start of the Third. Thranduil had most likely seen terrible things that no dwarf or hobbit would see in one life time. 

She did not like what she had seen; she did not like to see how the burden of kingship weighed so hard and so heavy. This was not a life she would want for her child. She wanted her child to live a good life one full more of laughter than tears, one of love and happiness and comfort. She wanted to watch her child grow old fall in love even have his/her heart broken or break a few hearts. Every mother wanted that for her child, not every mother got it. Bella was aware. The life of a king she has seen can be a terrible thing to be.

She remembers Bard’s own reluctance to take up the crown, the mantle and scepter. Not that there had been any crown, mantle, scepter at first but people had been making excited noises about acquiring some, perhaps commissioning the dwarves to make them. She had almost laughed at the poor Bowman’s (though poor no more) expression. Gandalf had taken it upon himself to try and convince Bard to take up the crown. She had not meant to overhear their conversation but he had insisted both she and Gandalf had stayed with him before they left. She remembered the Bowman had been rather afraid kingship would change him and that he would fail at leading his people.

“I don’t want to be king Gandalf! All I want is to rebuild my life, have a damn house since the _damn dragon burned my old one_ , and enough food to last us the incoming winter and raise my children in peace. I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. King.” He had insisted with childlike petulance.

“Do you think they do not want the same? To rebuild their own lives, to raise their children in peace, to have a home and hearth for the winter; your people need a leader Bard! And like it or not they look up to you! You were the one that shot Smaug out of the sky, bargained with the elf and dwarf kings, defended your people against the orcs, led them into battle. Can you not try to give leading them in peace a chance?”

“I know _nothing_ of ruling people Gandalf!”

“You know more than you think you do Bard. I know you do, and you have looked after your people even before you gained the title of _king,_ more than your former master. They know that, you know that. People will listen to you for that, if not for what you have just accomplished.”

Bard had slumped temporarily defeated and then said softly. “I am afraid. They look up to me I know, they want me to decide things for them; they want me to lead them. And you very well know that ruling in war is so much different than leading them in peace. I can’t shoot the problem down and be done with it. What if—what if I go wrong Gandalf? I don’t think my people can endure another ‘Master’.” Bard croaked out.

Gandalf sighed sympathetically. “Oh my dear Bowman, I very much doubt you would ever become like him. You bear him too much ill will to ever be so. Besides your Sigrid would whap you hard on the head, at the first inclination she sees you ever becoming remotely like the former Master. ”

Mentioning Bard’s Sigrid had succeeded in calming the Bowman down. He smiled and chuckled. “Yes she would at that.”

“And someone has to do it.” Gandalf prompted.

Bard glared at the wizard but Bella noted he had not refuted Gandalf’s claim.

He had been so afraid kingship would change him. That the power would go to his head and people, honest, good, kind, and _common_ people would suffer because of him. This was the fear she would carry too if her child was a son, her child to be an heir of Durin’s line. More than just the fear of power going to his head there was the gold as well, _gold fever_. How much of her child was hers? How much was—

She cut herself off, muffled a scream into her pillow.  
She would not go there; not now and not yet, not while the hurt within her was still a raw and festering wound on her heart. Desperate to push such thoughts out of her mind and for the darkness to take her so she could finally sleep. Bella prayed; a simple prayer a Shire-folk’s prayer of there ever was one.

_As I lay myself to sleep_  
_I pray my soul Yavanna will keep_  
_If to the dark my soul shall take._  
_I pray the Green Halls is next I wake._

She chanted it over and over again as a Mantra in her head; till the words blurred and became senseless. She chanted until the prayer became only a little more than strings of gibberish. She chanted until she fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Bella to cry at the end. I wanted to make her cry I am such a terrible person but I couldn’t find the words so I made her fret about her future what her parents would think etc. 
> 
> I remember when my aunt got pregnant she let me touch her baby bump and I felt it kick. It was like this is a baby. A baby a life and it was just warm and alive and words can’t do it justice it was so long ago but that feeling of wonder. And she let me listen to it there’s not quite an experience like that I think.


	4. Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BBBBAAAARRRRDDD :)

Sometimes Bard looks back at what happened on what happened. He remembers the war very vividly. He remembers the struggle afterwards. In some ways it was a bit harder for him because the troubles never really stopped; but his problems were problems of peace he would not trade them ever for the times of war. It had been a long, long journey to bring Dale to the peaceful country it had been almost two centuries before; but it had been well worth it the end.

 

When the day was done and the war was won. When the battle rage cooled to give way to grief and the sky that bled like soldiers had just been repainted in the ink of night. Bard waited for his daughter. His Sigrid had insisted on staying behind and assisting the healers. His brave stubborn girl had a rudimentary knowledge of first aid. Being the woman of the house for so long had her teach herself basic first aid to care for her family. She had been insistent she do her part. He had only relented because the elf-woman Tauriel had promised him that she would take responsibility of Sigrid and would bring her back herself. Bard did not trust easily but Tauriel had saved the lives of his children when they were being attacked by orcs and got them all out to relative safety.

Bard stands where he can see the battlefield. He stands on the high rise of Dale’s ruins waiting where he is certain he will see his daughter and the elf when they come back to Dale. From where he stands Bard can see small steady dots of orange light campfires for those who have tents to camp. A space has been allocated and cleared for the healers’ tents. After the war when night was approaching the dwarves and elves set up separate encampments opposite from each other in the middle of the two camps lay the healers’ tents (where his Sigrid and Tauriel were). An odd blend of both dwarf and elf tents; with a combination of elves, dwarves and _men_ residing within them. The injured lie in the healer’s tents and in truth there aren’t enough only the gravely injured lie there whatever race they maybe. If he concentrates on the glow of the fires alone letting all other details slightly blur; from this distance he cannot tell the difference of the tents. He cannot tell the three camps apart from each other and for a moment Bard can pretend it is all just one big camp. He is glad for that it gives the image that they’re all getting along as if just the afternoon prior to this night they weren’t prepared to bash each other faces in all for gold. An enormous disproportionately gargantuan amount of gold but still it took the threat of Valar forsaken _legions_ of orcs for them to join forces.

What does that say about them? That only under the threat of immediate death did all the races put aside their differences and get along? By killing, massacring, beheading, disemboweling and all other macabre actions of violence the aforementioned orcs; only then did the three races unite in the common goal of survival.

Bard sighed softly; still watching and waiting. He had to lead his men those who were not incapacitated during the battle and some of the women (he’s not surprised the women took up arms as well Laketown women were tough hard bred things if his wife were still alive he was certain she would have lead the charge) to seek refuge the ruins of Dale to find what shelter they can. He left his children Bain and Tilda in one of the least ruined houses and in the care of Sally (the woman who did lead the charge of women) an old family friend and two unexpected but not unwelcomed guests; the Grey Wizard and the Hobbit lass Bella.

Bard had never met the Grey Wizard before prior to small conference where he was trying to convince Thranduil not to wage war on the dwarves and telling them that unless they joined forces they would all die under the blades of the orcs. An argument that was completely true but one he was actually loosing. Until Bella had run into the tent breathless, completely unannounced and dropped the Arkenstone on a table, telling them that they could use it to barter for her share of the treasure.

This was the second time the hobbit had offered her gold to him; the first time had been severely interrupted.

 

_It is a bloody stupid idea to have an army behind him. It will only make the dwarves more paranoid; but Thranduil was insistent. A show of power will be necessary in this negotiation. They will see you mean business. Do you think they will take you seriously if you ride walk up bedraggled and garbed like a vagrant? He cannot argue with that._

_Bard rides up to the gates on a white mare he borrowed from the elves. He stops before the gates and sees the dwarves standing there upon a wall of fortified stone._

_“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain we are glad to find you alive beyond hope.” He greets. He does not bow his head._

_“Why do you come to the gates of the King Under the Mountain armed for war?” He demands scowling heavily._

Don’t say anything to aggravate him.

_“Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in? Like a robber in his hole?”_

Shit. _He let his temper get the best of him._

 _“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be_ robbed _!”_

_Bard backtracks but it is hard to be humble his people have lost their home; everything he had warned would happen did._

_“My lord we have not come to rob you; but to seek fair settlement. Will you not speak with me?”_

_Thorin glances away from Bard looks to his fellow dwarves, and then tersely nods._

_Bard dismounts from his horse and walks across the narrow bridge to the wall of stone. There he finds a small window large enough for him to speak through and on the other side he can see Thorin._

_“I’m listening.” The dwarf says softly._

_“On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honor your pledge; a share of the treasure so that they may rebuild their lives.” He pleads. Pride has no place here not while his people will soon be starving and cold in the winter._

_“I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies outside my door.”_

He knew it he fucking knew it.

_“That armed host will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms.” Bard counters._

_“Your threats do not sway me.” Thorin says with a small shake of his head, as if he pities Bard._

_“What of your conscience?” he asks._

_“Does it not tell you our cause is just?” They have lost home and life._

_“My people offered you_ help, _and in return you brought upon them only_ ruin and death.” _Bard says vehemently._

 _“_ When did the men of Laketown come to our aid but for the promise of rich reward?!”

 _“_ A bargain was struck! _”_

 _“_ A bargain? _What choice did we have to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom? You call that a fair trade?”_

_Bard looks away its true he can understand that much but he needs a way to convince Thorin to honor his bargain. He cannot let his people die._

_“Tell me_ Bard the Dragon slayer. Why should I honor such terms?”

_There is a moment of pure despair and indignation for Bard but before he can speak a soft clear voice pipes up._

_“They can have mine.”_

_Thorin whips his head to his right in shock. Bard tries to find an angle where he can see the owner of that familiar voice._

_“Bella?” He calls._

_“Bard!”_

_Thorin is pushed aside. Bard can see a mop of curly copper hair framing a forehead and a pair of vibrant green eyes just barely looking through the hole. He can hear a muffled mutter of ‘Damnit I’m too short…’_

_“Hello Bard! Are you alright?” Bella says pitching her voice to be heard through the stone wall’s hole. “How are your children? Kili told me they made it out; but your people are they safe?”_

_Her questions are a soothing balm against his worries. There is someone there who_ cares, _someone who can convince Thorin to_ listen. _She who sent the raven that guided his shot._ _But before he can answer; Bella is wrenched out of view he can her muffled cry._

 _“Thorin?! What are you doing let me go!”_

_“What am_ I _doing here!? What are_ you doing _here?! You should be in our chambers—”_

 _“I went for a walk and heard the commotion. As for what I am doing here I am honoring_ our _bargain.” Bard waits breathlessly trying in vain to see something; he finally finds an angle that allows him Thorin’s back. He can only hear them. He can hear Bella change her tone to pleading._

 _“Thorin, listen; please listen to me. I have no birthright to my share of gold. I have no need of it. We made a bargain with them remember?” Her voice pitches so low that Bard almost misses her next words. “Is this gold worth more than your honor? Besides it won’t be your gold it will be_ mine _. As your fourteenth member I was promised a fourteenth share. This is what I want to do with it. I was your host once boarded and fed you and your Company. I would be honored to be responsible for it once again.”_

 _“_ I forbid it.”

_Bard can hear Bella’s startled gasp. Hear her cry “Thorin no! Listen to me!”_

_“_ I have listened enough!! I will not let you demean yourself like this! Bella are to be queen now such behavior is unbecoming of someone of your ranking.”

_Queen? Did he hear right? Bella begins to yell back._

“ _What?! That is a load of codswallop Thorin since when is—”_

_“ENOUGH.”_

_Bard can hear nothing but silence. No words uttered, if there are he cannot hear them. He cannot see what has happened to Bella, what Thorin is doing to her. He can on;y see the ramrod straight posture of Thorin’s back. And suddenly the dwarf king moves, surging towards the peephole bellowing at Bard._

_“BEGONE!!!”_

_Bard hesitates; the rage that suffuses Thorin’s face makes him actually take a step back.  But Bella...where is she? What has happened to her? If the dwarf has hurt her...But then he hears her quiet strained voice._

_“Bard…just go back…I’m fine. Go back_ please _.”_

_She sounds scared and he wonders if Thorin has hurt her. It makes his blood rage. But he knows his presence might only endanger her further; especially if she continues to defy Thorin for his sake. Bard hits the stone in anger but before he leaves he yells._

_“If you hurt her Thorin Oakenshield then you truly have forsaken all honor!!”_

_“LEAVE NOW OR LEST THE ARROWS FLY!”_

_Bard leaves. What else can he do?_

_He does not see her again, till she offers the Arkenstone to him._


	5. what happened in between.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah still continuation of flash back. I'm not doing this right am i? oh well.

He had left the mountain in a rage and a fear in his heart that was not for himself. At that time he had not believed there would be a war. And in way he was right there had not been a war between elves, men and dwarves; only between the free races of middle earth against the orcs. And one Hobbit made it all possible.

 

_“There is only one language dwarves understand.” Thranduil said drawing out his sword, it rang a pure tone of metal and gleamed in the sunlight._

That’s a lie. _He could not help thinking_. They like stories and songs. _Bofur the dwarf with the floppy hat had taken to entertaining his little Tilda with wild tales of the places he had traveled to as a nomadic tinker. Tilda had been taken by this dwarf. She had clapped and laughed and begged for more stories._

_And it was not only dwarves that were in the mountain, one hobbit was there as well. One hobbit who had vouched for her leader (and perhaps something more), she would have upheld Thorin’s bargain. She would have taken it upon herself… And what would have happened if he had stayed and demanded it so? Think Bard just because you heard nothing, does not mean nothing happened. Is she safe with them? Will she be safe now that an elven army has declared war, on all of Thorin’s Company including her?_

_But he did not say it out loud; in fact he said nothing at all on the way back. He let Thranduil fill the silence himself with war tactics, positioning, plans that he barely grasped._ _The elf king had given them aid, food and supplies when he thought they were bereft of all hope. As much as Bard disliked it he owed the elf king._

_And the elf king told him they had to prepare for war; he was to follow Thranduil’s lead. Although when Bard was certain Thranduil wasn’t looking, Bard secretly he had told his men that if they encountered the hobbit-lass they would do her no harm, and told them to pass the message on. His men assured him they would._

_It had been late afternoon when Gandalf StormCrow had come brining news of orcs of a dark force of a battle yet to come that was bigger than them. Bringing warnings of an army that would change the face of Middle Earth forever if they did not take action. He spoke of legions of orcs, of the mountain being a strategic stronghold and of a dark place called Angbar. However true it had been proven Thranduil at that time would not listen and Bard believed, well if there really was a war coming surely the dwarves would not win and the elves would stand against the orcs. Wouldn’t they?_

_Bard after listening a while went back to helping his men get ready, many were wielding a sword for the first time. Gandalf had come to him after trying and failing to deal with Thranduil._

_“You Bowman! Do you agree with this? Is gold so important to you that you would pay for it in the blood of dwarves?”_

No he would not kill for gold. He did not want to. Bard had been a guard, a smuggler, and was a pauper and now leader of paupers but he would not kill for gold.

_“It will not come to that. This is a fight they cannot win.”_

_“That won’t stop them!” The two turned to see Bella standing there winded slightly out of breath but determined to say her piece._

_“They will fight to the death to defend their own.” She stated._

_“Bella!” Bard cried out he strode to her caught her hands in his and knelt to look her in the face and checked her over for injuries._

_“Are you alright? He did not hurt you?” he asked worriedly. No bruises as far as he could see, but her sleeves were long and covered much. Still she did not hold herself like someone injured, tired yes. She did not flinch when he grasped her arms gave a soft squeeze. But her expression was haggard and pale; there were dark circles under her eyes and her lips were chapped and repeatedly bitten._

_Bard breathed a soft sigh of relief when he could determine there were no external signs of injuries on her._

_Bella smiled wanly at him. “No. He did not hurt me.” She reassured him. “I-I’m fine Bard thank you, for asking.”_

_“Belladonna Baggins.” Gandalf said surprised. The old wizard was beaming at the hobbit lass as if she was the answer to all his problems._

_“What an utter delight it is to see you here.”_

_Bella gave the wizard the same smile she had given Bard._

_“It is wonderful to see you too Gandalf.” Bella greeted politely then she looked at the two of them. Her face became serious and voice turned commanding._

_“Take me to the person in charge of this army I must speak with him.”_

_“If I’m not mistaken this is the Halfling that stole the keys of my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.” Thranduil said his voice held a sharp imperious edge to it._

So that was how they got out. _Bard smirked. If she had not already won his regard, he could not have liked her more now. His respect grew for this hobbit lass._

_Bella nodded awkwardly._

_“...Yesh, sorry about that.”_

_She took a breath and strode to the middle of the room so she was in front of Thranduil, with Bard at her left and Gandalf at her right all eyes were trained on her and yet she did not falter._

_“I came to give you this.”_

_She pulled a cloth covered bundle from her pocket and unwrapped for all to see, revealing the most beautiful white gem Bard had ever seen in his life. White did not do it justice it was all the colors in creation spun into the gem so it looked white. There was a glow from inside the stone an unnaturally beautiful glow._

_Thranduil stood up from his chair almost transfixed as he stared at the stone and whispered almost reverently._

_“The king’s jewel.”_

_“And worth a king’s ransom.” Bard said stepping forward to take a closer look at the stone. He turned to the hobbit-lass._

_“Bella, how is this yours to give?” he asked her gently._

_She raised her head ever so slightly, ever so queenly._

_“I took it as my 14 th share of the treasure.” She declared_

_“Why would you do this Halfling? You owe us no loyalty” Thranduil asks his tone still haughty for one addressing the hobbit lass who has most likely laid the solution to all their problems at their feet._

_“I’m not doing it for you.” Bella said bluntly to the elf king and shaking her head at him but she nodded to Bard “Although it is partly because a bargain was struck between the Company and the men of Laketown; it is mostly for the sake of my dwarves.”_

_She smiled wearily. “They can be rude and selfish, pompous, pig headed prats. Or obstinate, difficult and secretive with the_ worst manners you can possibly imagine.” _She made a sidelong glance at Gandalf and the wizard softly chuckled._

_“But they are also brave and kind and loyal to a fault…” She looked down her next words were almost inaudible. “And they love very deeply.”_

_She raised her head high a stubborn tilt to her chin and the determined the full honest sincerity of her eyes looked out at them._

_“I would save them if I can.”_

_She looked down at the stone cradling it like it was fragile as an egg shell yet also as if it was completely repulsive to her._

_“This is the Arkenstone. It is the heart of the mountain. It is the heart of the Mountain” Her voice became strangled, and a quick flash of pain crossed her face. “It is the heart of Thorin. He will listen to you if you have this. He will have no choice but to listen.”_

_Her voice then rose in anger and pride. Her eyes flashed with a bitter and sharp fury daring them to oppose her._

_“I am, as the fourteenth member of the Company, entitled to a fourteenth share of the treasure. To spend as I see fit, to do with as I pleased. I will give you this stone to barter for my share and I will give you_ all _of it.”_

_Bard’s mouth almost fell open._

“All?” _he could not help asking even though Thranduil shot him a dirty look one that said_ Shut up _. But Bard couldn’t help himself, if only half the rumors he heard were true even a fourteenth share of the Dragon’s hoard would be enough to rebuild Dale_ _from scratch to the highest level of prosperity ten times over._

_Bella nodded firmly a ghost of a smile on her face; she seemed to savor his surprise._

_“I will sign over_ everything _of my promised fourteenth share, to the people of Laketown and the elves of Mirkwood.” She turned to Thranduil speaking to him directly.”_

_“But only if you on their behalf will agree to my terms.”_

_“And what are your terms?” Thranduil asked, he had lost some of his imperious tone not much but some. The elf king regarded her with a new respect._

_“That your armies will not fight the dwarves nor shall you challenge them. Instead your armies will fight the orcs that are approaching. No harm shall come to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield; you shall keep them safe.”_

_Thranduil stared at her; if Bard knew him better he would have said that the thousands of years old elf king was doing his equivalent gapping._

_“That is all that you want? All that you wish for?”_

_She leveled a furious look at him, as if he had the_ gall _to ask that question of her. There was steel in her eyes. Steel as strong and sharp as an elvish sword, that flashed and brokered no argument._

_“Yes.” She ground out. “Keep them safe, that’s all I ask.”_

_“How do you know of the approaching army of orcs?” Gandalf asked behind her full of surprise._

_Bella flashed him an exasperated smile._

_“I saw the orcs in Mirkwood, and Roäc confirmed my suspicions. We have been pursued ever since we left the Shire. From the stories I’ve heard of Azog the defiler, it stands this quest would not end so easily nor so swiftly after we have just accomplished our goal.” She turned back to the elf king._

_‘Do we have a deal?” She asked sticking out her hand at him. Her eyes unflinchingly and steadily met his. They did not waver and Thranduil had not hesitated._

_“We do.” he replied shaking it._

_Bella turned to Bard next. “And you Master Bowman? Do we have a deal?”_

_He bowed his head to her. And when she extended her hand to him he knelt and brought it lightly to his lips. He was impressed by all she had accomplished; by the way she carried herself. Indebted to her for her offer of gold for the solution she had just brought to them at such a price. And more than that, the Raven she sent him told him of Smaug's chink in the armor. Where Bard killed him._

_“Aye my lady.” He agreed. “We have a deal.”_

_Before she left they had tried to convince her to stay with them. Gandalf pleaded, trying everything within his power of persuasion to convince her to either go home or stay with them; anything but go back to the dwarves. They could not help her if she chose to stay with those who barricaded themselves. And if she stayed they could not guarantee her safety in the war._

_The best course of action for her now was to return to the Shire. She should go home go far back to the kindly west where she would be safe and sound away from all the bloodshed and grief that was to come._

_Even Thranduil commented although in an offhandedly nonchalant way that she would be facing certain death if she went back to those she had just betrayed once they learned of her betrayal._

_“The dwarves keep long grudges.” He said and poured himself another glass of wine._

_Both Gandalf and Bard shot him dirty looks. But Bella waved all their pleas away. She remained insistent on returning to the mountain, and to her dwarves._

_“I cannot leave them! I have to return to them, I must. They will wonder where I have gone. Thorin will wonder where I have gone.”_

_“They may be affected by Dragon Sickness! Thorin most certainly is! A great evil lies upon that gold Bella. One that affects all that goes near it.” Gandalf thundered, then his voice from full of rage softened and became pleading. “Bella I beg you do not go back.” Thranduil had raised an eyebrow at the wizard’s outburst. Both Bard and Gandalf ignored him. Bard had seen the lust of gold ruin a man turn him into a greedy wretch of what he should have been and damn an entire town as consequence._

_The hobbit lass shook her head, regret glittered in her eyes._

_“Every moment I am here increases the chance that they discover I am gone. I did not come here to bargain for their lives only to abandon them now.” said Bella with an air of finality and nothing would sway her._

_She only stayed long enough to fill her belly with hot food. But before she left she had pressed the Arkenstone into Bard’s hands._

_“I trust you with this.” she said softly to his surprise. Her face was open with all her fears. Oh despite her brave words her courage and defiance she was so very afraid, his heart hurt in sympathy. His hands curled around hers holding the stone between them._

_“Fear not my lady; we will honor your bargain. I will keep your trust.” He promised._

 

They had kept their bargain, somewhat. A bargain struck between a man, an elf and a hobbit; a bargain that seemed doomed to fail from the start. It started by going almost went utterly horribly terrible wrong when they witnessed Bella nearly falling to her death and ended with the line of Durin all comatose.

Bard shook his head trying and failing to keep his mind of dark topics and to distract himself from the clenching vice around his heart. In the end he, they could not keep his promise. She had asked only for the safety of the whole Company and they could not even give her that. On the battlements; Thorin had pushed her near to the brink, she was almost falling, her back lying on thin air; only her hands desperately scrabbling at the dwarf and her legs hooked to the battlements had kept her from being shattered on the rocks below. It had only been Gandalf timely appearance that had saved her from being thrown down where her bones would break on the rocks. In their rage of seeing her treated thusly and of her heart wrenching sobs that she buried in the wizard’s embrace. They had forgotten their promise.

And yet they would not have won without the Company of Thorin Oakenshield’s mad charge into the battlefield. It was the moral boost they needed, and the heirs of Durin with Tauriel and _Bella_ had taken down both Azog and Bolg without them the orcs had turned disorganized. The eagles and Beorn crushed any feeble reformation the remaining orcs intended.

The price of that victory was now the unsure survival of Durin’s heirs. The whole Company was alive but Thorin, Fili and Kili’s conditions were unstable for now. He had learned the latter news from Thranduil himself. The elf king told him how Bella had asked nay begged on her knees for the lives of Durin’s line. Although she should not have to, she should not have needed to. Thranduil was shaken, and perhaps a little bit drunk when he recounted the story to Bard. Bard couldn’t blame him.

But Bella was safe now. Thranduil had told him where to find the hobbit and sure enough Bard had found her with the Gandalf. She was alive, bedraggled, bandaged and heartbroken. He offered them lodgings then and there, to come with him to Dale where he could ensure they especially Bella would be safe. His people owed much to them. They would be honored to have them. (and protect them from the dwarves.) Though he did not mention that, there was no need to upset Bella further.

When he suggested they stay with them she did not answer him; it did not seem she had heard him at all. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of her; leaving this pale empty wounded wraith behind. He wanted to kill the dwarf king then. He felt he would have except for the fact that the dwarf king was already near death himself.

Gandalf had accepted for them and the Wizard had to carry Bella to Dale. Bella’s legs would no hold her up. The only expression of life she had shown was when they arrived at Bard’s lodgings Tilda upon seeing her squealed in delight and fairly ambushed Bella. Bard would have gently brought Tilda away and apologized but he saw Bella smile, the barest hint of a smile, shaky and fragile but a smile all the same. Gandalf had pulled him away from them and he let his children and Bella be.

If he had known what the wizard had wanted to speak with him about he would have searched for any excuse no matter how flimsy it was to escape the old man’s insistent meddling and very annoying and uncanny knack to be right.

It turned out Gandalf had pulled him aside to persuade him to take the title of king.

_“All I want is to rebuild my life, have a damn house since the damn dragon burned my old one, and enough food to last us the incoming winter and raise my children in peace.”_

_“Do you think they do not want the same?”_

He remembers the wizard’s words, their conversation and it makes him scowl. All day long he has had no rest. He has had to _lead_ his people, comfort, console, sometimes bully his people for their own good. He has had to organize them in order to get anything done. He has had answer to people who desperately needed answers and they looked to him to give it to them. Like a king. Thranduil was wrong about wizards being all bluster and thunder.

Bard shakes his head as if to shake away his thoughts and fixes his eyes once again on the road. He will not sleep till Sigrid is back. Bard is not being unduly worried; the night it is still very early in the evening Sigrid and Tauriel should be coming back soon. He knows that they are safe. There are guards still at the makeshift emergency shelters on the battlefield who will keep watch. They will make sure his people will not come to harm. And in truth after everything he had needed this moment to himself.

 

He watches the road to Dale; he has good night vision given that some of the less than legal aspects of his trade had required him to work under the cover of night. Bard can see very well in the dark. 

True enough he can see a pinprick of light making its way towards Dale. Bard smiles and waits relief replacing the slight weight he did not know resided in his chest. That was Sigrid and Tauriel he was sure of it. The pinprick got closer and closer till he could make out their faint outlines coming towards him. Three faint—wait what?

He did not miscount. There were _three_ figures heading towards him. One of them was very short.

A dwarf, they had with them a dwarf.


	6. Convseration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damnit they're just talking. Why do they talk so much? My does my head keep insisting to put this stuff?

Granted it was Bofur. That assuaged the anger, surprise and resentment that rose violently up and threatened to spill over, but not by much. Most of his grief was with Thorin and Bard had seen how the Company had been reluctant to act against their hobbit. It was Thorin alone who had almost thrown Bella off the battlements but still… It must have shown in his face because Bofur on seeing him and faltered and swept off his hat, bowing his head respectfully.

“Evening Master Bard.” Bofur said politely and nervously.

Before Bard could tell him to sod off or even ask what the hell he was doing here. Sigrid had bounded to him and wrapped him in a hug which he immediately returned, pulling back only to give her a confused and indignant look.

_Why is he here? Why did you bring him? You know Bella is here!_

“He was asking questions about Bella Da, he says he just wants to know she’s safe and help her. Tauriel believes him and he wants to speak with you about the gold.” Sigrid said although he noted she did not say _she_ trusted him. He looked at Tauriel. The elf-woman nodded.

“I believe his intentions are good. I think we should hear him out at least.” said Tauriel.

Bard hesitated; he liked the elf woman he really did. She had protected his children and so he trusted her to an extent but so far as Bard knew only he and his children knew that Bella and Gandalf were in Bard’s house. He had made his children and his people swear to keep their whereabouts secret. He did not know if Tauriel knew. He glanced back to his daughter Sigrid must have a reason for leading Bofur here and he trusted his daughter. Bard turned to the dwarf who was now anxiously twisting his hat. _Good he’s afraid of me._

“What say you Master Bofur? Why are you here?” he asked coldly. _What gave you the gall to come here?_

The dwarf visibly gulped and said.

“You have every reason not to trust me Master Bard, I can’t fault you for that. You don’t owe me anything but I swear, _I promise_ I mean Bella no harm. I just want to know that she’s safe. I’m not here to find out where she is. In fact I don’t want to know where she is, if I don’t know I can’t be asked right?” He said with a crooked grin.

“She could be with the elves for that matter so long as she’s safe.” Bofur said, he had not looked away from Bard at all. He had not flinched from the man’s cold angry stare.

Bard studied Bofur for a long time much to the dwarf’s obvious discomfort. There was honest regret in Bofur’s eyes and shame. He was slumping where he stood and looked pleadingly at Bard. The dwarf seemed to be sincere so far as Bard could tell. He looked at Sigrid.

“Do you believe him?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Not enough to tell him where exactly and who Bella is with.” She said bluntly and Bard understood why she had brought him there to them.

“But Borfur says all he wants to know is if Bella is safe. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him she was and insisted on talking to you.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you lass.” Bofur interrupted. “I do believe you but confirmation is always nice, and besides there are things I need to speak with your Da as King of Dale.”

Bard gritted his teeth. “I’m not the king.” He said and was certain he did not sound petulant at all.

“You aren’t? Then who’s in charge here?”

Tauriel and Sigrid looked at Bard expectantly. 

“W-well I am but—!” Bard sighed he wasn’t going to have this conversation again.

“Perhaps we can continue this conversation inside.” Tauriel suggested gently. “The night grows cold and I have tea.”

 

She also had a teapot in her pack and Bard had scrounged up a few bowls. They didn’t have mugs so bowls would have to do for now. Tauriel had set the water to a boil over an ancient fireplace. The table and chairs had long since rotted away in the ruins of Dale so they ended up all sitting cross legged on the floor around the small fire. The orange light bathed their faces in a soft glow. Sigrid sat closest to the fire at Bard’s insistence, now she leaned against his side, still not too old to give her old man a cuddle. Tauriel sat on Bard’s other side tending to the fire and the tea. Bofur sat opposite Sigrid.

“How did you come by my daughter?” Bard asked Bofur as he accepted a bowl of tea from Tauriel.

“To be honestly speaking Master Bard, she came by me.” Bofur replied.

“You were being nosy, too nosy for my liking. You wouldn’t stop even when I asked you to.” Sigird said without lifting her head from her father’s shoulder even when Tauriel handed her tea.

“You mean when you threatened me with that pig-sticker in my side.” Bofur corrected glibly although his voice held no malice. Bard twisted his head to look at his daughter. 

“You threatened him with a knife?”

“He was asking too many questions Da.” Sigrid explained. Bard patted his her head proudly.

“That’s my girl.”

Tauriel uttered a quiet chuckle as she poured tea for herself and then for Bofur. All was quiet for a moment as they drank. It was good tea, although Bard did not recognize its taste. Tea had been a luxury for them; the brew strong but not too bitter, warmth began to seep into his bones.

“What do you want Master Bofur?” Bard asked breaking the silence that was just becoming comfortable. “I can assure you Bella is safe and in good company. Isn’t that all you wanted to know?”

“No, not exactly.” Bofur admitted and Bard bristled. The dwarf held up his hands palms out placating.

“Please don’t misunderstand me Master Bard! I promise you that it eases a heavy load off my heart to know the lass is safe, but a question remains to be asked. What now?”

Bard frowned. “What do you mean, ‘What now?’ ”

“Will Bella be staying with the men or with the elves? Will she be going back to the Shire or will she stay here?”

Bard could tell then that the dwarf was hoping the hobbit lass would stay in Erebor or at least Dale.

“That is her choice, which admittedly she hasn’t made yet.” _But you’d be daft to hope she would stay here._ He had seen the wraith pale look on Bella’s face. Her broken heart clearly displayed on her sleeve. Why would she choose to stay here?

“Even if she chose not to leave for a while yet will she be safe? I say this bluntly, she did betray you. What will you do to her now? What will Thorin do to her if he wakes up?”

“When.” Bofur corrected tightly, “When Thorin wakes up.” He sighed then and stared into the flames.    

“Do you know what Gold Sickness is Master Bard?” Bofur asked suddenly.

“Yes.” Bard said staunchly, of course he knew. Bofur shook his head.

“Nay, Master Bowman, you’ve seen what it can do to and what it has wrought but do you know what it is _like_?”

“It is a sickness of the mind; an unnatural lust for gold that overcomes all things including the will of the mind and heart.” said Tauriel. Her voice was low and soft. Her amber eyes flicked up to meet Bofur’s.

“Thranduil had books, old rare texts about what had been lost in the desolation of Dale and Erebor. Gold Sickness had been mentioned in them, they said that it was the gold and Thror’s lust for it that brought Smaug to the Lonely Mountain.”

“Aye that it did lass, that it was.” Bofur sighed.

“We were all affected by it, some more than others. It was like a fever, like a nasty cold you’d think was just a sniffle at first till you’re vomiting your guts up into a bucket. We didn’t know how far we had gone till…have you ever cooked a frog?”

“Yes.” Sigrid and Bard replied. Food could be scarce at times why waste a good source of protein?

Tauriel had, slightly mystified answered ‘No’. Bofur turned to the female elf.

“Well it’s like this, to cook a frog you put it in a pan of water and then you slowly build up the heat. You do it so slowly the frog doesn’t realize it’s being cooked till its brains are boiled. Tauriel looked horrified.

“That is needlessly cruel! Why not put the frog first out of its misery before eating it?” she cried.

“It’s a metaphor lass, _we were the frogs._ We had been so far gone our heads were cooked. Whole hours had gone missing in our heads. We were so bewitched by the hoard we forgot that what we were standing in was a _tomb_. There were bones; bones everywhere. Skeletons littered the floor, the dried mummified remains of our people; you could still see the desperation in their blackened faces the empty eyes. We were walking beside the dead and we didn’t care! It was like a very, very bad hangover. Only seeing you Master Bard with the Arkenstone like that and seeing Bella confess to stealing it and Thorin a-almost _killing_ her; it woke me up. It woke us up, and when Thorin wakes up, I think he’ll have really woken up. Thorin was blinded and only after what Bella had done what she had to do and after he—reacted did Thorin pull out of the Gold Sickness.” Bofur explained.

“You saw him didn’t you? When he led our charge out of the gates, he was Thorin as he had been before. He was our leader again. He was the dwarf I pledged my loyalty to in the Blue Mountains. Thorin when he wakes up he will see the sense of things he will know, _he already knows_ what Bella had done was what she had to do. He’ll forgive her and ask her forgiveness; us as well. We need—we want her to stay for us to make amends to her.”

“But can you give me your word that she will be safe? She is still banished is she not?” Borfur hesitated before answering. “Well technically yes she is still banished, neither Fili nor Kili or Thorin have recovered enough to rescind the banishment but she is also one of us. Bella has a place amongst us she has earned over and over again. We, the Company would protect her with our lives. We owe her that.” Bofur assured Bard insistently though the Bowman remained unconvinced.

“Even against Thorin?” Bard asked brusquely. Bofur flinched. For a moment he felt sorry for the dwarf forced to choose between an old loyalty and the new. But he owed Bofur nothing and he owed Bella almost everything.

“I—I cannot answer, I cannot make that choice. Although I know it in my bones Thorin would not hurt her; never again.”

It was obvious then that Bofur did not truly want to know where Bella was right now but rather where she will be. He was assuming that Bard was responsible for or at least had a connection to Bella’s wellbeing. He was asking in around about way for Bard’s permission and blessing, perhaps for him to pass the message along to Bella herself in fact; that the Hobbit could stay in the Lonely Mountain if she wanted to.

“You want here to stay with you in Erebor to make amends with her; you swear that your company will guard her with their lives but what if she does not want to stay?” Bard asked and pressed further.

“What if she wishes to return home back to her Shire?”

Bofur swallowed hard and the color drained from his face. “Then we’ll respect her wishes and we’ll aid her in every step of the way. We—if that is what she truly wants. We will not stand in her way. If it will make her happy then…She deserves her chance of happiness where ever she can find it.” Bofur said miserably.

That was kind of him, very kind. Sigrid made a small soft sound of sympathy; she spoke softly and kindly to Bofur. “Perhaps…perhaps she will stay. She was so worried for Thorin, Fili and Kili. I don’t think she’d leave without confirming to herself that they’re ok.”

Tauriel nodded in agreement. “You have wronged her, most grievously so, yes but she is not the kind to hold grudges. I think she would forgive you if you all were very sincere.”     

Bofur smiled kindly at them. “I thank you for your kindness my ladies but the truth is we just stood there. We did nothing, too caught up in well you know. If she will forgive us for abandoning her when she needed us the most, only time will tell for sure.” He turned back to Bard.

“If it was up to you Master Bard, what would you do?”

“I? I’d still have her go home, to leave here and return back to her homeland.”

Bofur sighed “Aye. I thought so.” He stood up. “It’s getting late. I’ve said my piece I need to turn back.”

“I will accompany you.” Tauriel said immediately. “I need to be going back as well.”

“Thank you. I’ll be glad for the company on the long dark road down.” Bofur said with an easy accepting smile at the she elf.

Sigrid tried to protest but Tauriel laid a gentle hand over the young lady’s. “I will see you again tomorrow Mellon.” said the elf and Sigrid sighed in reluctant agreement.

Bofur turned to Bard “Before I forget Balin will be wanting to speak to you tomorrow. Although Dain’s in charge for now, Balin’s controlling the gold. He’ll want to talk to you about Bella, most likely tell you what I just said.”

“And I will tell him what I told you.” said Bard as he stood up. Beside him Sigrid slightly disgruntled from being dislodged from his side also stood up.

“Thank you for having me Master Bard.” Bofur held his hand out. Bard had not hesitated to shake it.

He bowed low to Sigrid sweeping his hat to his heart. “It was a pleasure my dear lovely lady.” Sigrid smiled at his charm.

“The pleasure is ours.” Sigrid replied.

“Yes, thank you for having us.” Tauriel said politely, she offered her hand and Bard shook it warmly.

“You are welcome anytime here.” Bard told her she smiled brightly at him.

They watched the two leave. Tauriel held the lantern. Bard and Sigrid watched their silhouettes slowly disappear down the road till they could see no more of them in the gloom.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is right after the Bofur wants Bella to stay. He doesn't know where she is. Lets just assume Gandalf had got her out quietly with his awesome powers so nobody but the elves know and men and they aren't going to talk about that. Fuck that this little scrap of lass saved us from being slaughtered by orcs prevented a war against three races that might have damaged interracial civility forever like hell we're going to hand her over to the dwarves.  
> But if you don't like that just believe they're all too damn tired and busy looking for the injured and dead to care about a tiny scrap of hobbit lass.


	7. Conversation end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn didn't think it would take this long

“You led him here to mislead him. He knows you wouldn’t trust him enough to bring him to Bella.” Bard says softly after they have watched the light disappear down the road.

“Aye; bringing him here would make it more likely he would doubt Bella was with us.” Sigrid said. She has always been a straightforward girl. She got that from him. He turned to face her not exactly angry but not pleased either.

“And what would have happened if Bella woke up? If she discovered he was here? Or if _he_ discovered _she_ was here? What would have happened then?” He demanded.

“It wouldn’t happened, Da.” Sigrid said firmly. “Gandalf gave Bella a potion so she’d sleep till morning without nightmares. She won’t have woken up.”

“That I did.” An old voice said behind them. Both Sigrid and Bard jumped and turned to see Gandalf standing there utterly unabashed at eavesdropping.

“I heard everything.” The wizard said shamelessly. Bard rolled his eyes.

“Did you now?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes I did, and if I revealed my presence Master Bowman Bofur would have deducted that Bella was within these lodgings. He knows I would not have left Bella out of my sight after the aftermath of this war.”

“And what do you think Master Wizard?” Bard asks honestly curios. “The Company wants Bella to come back to them apparently, but will not stop her should she decide to return home; what do you think is best for her?”   

“Bella is her own hobbit and can very well decide for herself.” Gandalf says insistently. “But if she will let me… I would bring her home back to the Shire.” He suddenly looked very old then and very tired.

“I will not say bringing her here was a mistake for truly we could not have gone this far without her, but to be in the Shire again; amongst the soft green grass, the wild flowers, little hills and little brooks; it would do her some good I think. After all that has happened a little peace and quiet would be welcome.”

“Don’t we all want that?” Bard asked dryly. Gandalf smiled sympathetically.

“Ay but my dear Bowman, for you, for men of change, much work still remains to be done. A kingdom does not build itself up from scratch after all.”

Bard scowled at the old man, but there is no venom in it he is not quite certain what being a man of change would entail but does know that if he wants his people to survive; his children to grow up hale and hearty then many things will have to change, and to ensure those changes happen he will have to assume a position of authority.

“You’ll go with her? All the wa—ay” Sigrid yawns “back to the Shire?” she asks looking up at the wizard. Gandalf nods solemnly.

“You have my word my dear. I would not let any harm come Bella if I could help it.”

Sigird smiles sleepily and yawns again; Bard spares his daughter a glance. She has had a long tiring day. He can see the dark cirles under her eyes, how late is it now? Way past her bedtime.

“Okay up you go Sig time for bed.” Bard insists with a gentle push. Sigrid frowns a little at being treated like a child. Swatting lightly at his hand

“ _Da.”_ She says to her chagrin but dutifully perches up on her tip toes to kiss her father good night. She nods to Gandalf on her way out.

“Good night, Mr. Gandalf please don’t keep my Da up too late. He needs to sleep too.” Gandalf chuckles.

“Good night Sigrid, I promise I shan’t keep him longer than I need to.” Bard rolls his eyes, waves to Sigrid as she disappears up the staircase.

“She really will be safer in the Shire? Away from all this.” Bard gestures wildly around him as if he is laying out all the misfortunes Bella has suffered at their feet.”

“You sound reluctant to let her leave.” Gandalf noted. Bard nodded.

“Aye, I’ve grown…fond for the lass. She risked much for our sake too much.” He had not forgotten that Thorin had referred to her as his queen. And what had he said to her on the battlements…Bard had not heard they were too high up; but he had seen no one could have mistaken it; the last straw was when Thorin nearly threw Bella to her death. “I never wanted—I did not want to pay the price of gold in lives or pain or blood.”

“It was not your fault.”

“I know that! I know but the woman who made this all possible is now a broken wraith, you saw her face Gandalf her _eyes._ Dead fish have more expression in them I swear. She is broken and the one who broke her—”

“Is comatose; grievously injured and may never wake up.”

Bard shook his head. “Thranduil healed him. Bella made him promise. Thorin will recover in due time.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows rose. “Did she now?”

“Yes she did.” Bard hesitated, he had wanted to ask of this before, he had not spoken this to Bofur; the dwarf himself had made no mention of this.

“Gandalf you know Bella better than I do and you know Thorin do you not?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”  

“What is their…what is the relationship between Thorin and Bella? I think I heard him once refer to her as his queen. Did I tell you that?”

“No, no you didn’t” Gandalf said sharply. “When?” He demanded.

“I’m not sure if I had heard correctly and Bofur made no mention of it. I don’t think he knew of it. But when I first went to the bared door of Erebor to negotiate with Thorin; he said no but she offered to pay us back with her own treasure on the spot. She…she told Thorin she had fed and lodged them before she would be honored to be responsible for that again something like that; and he snapped at her told her this wasn’t the way a _queen_ should behave before he threatened to shoot me full of arrows. His voice had been low and soft but if I did hear correctly…” Bard trailed off. It would explain a lot of things. It would explain how utterly wretched Bella had looked as she descended from the Lonely Mountain. It was as if Thorin had torn her heart out while it was still beating and crushed it underfoot with little regard as if it was some loathsome pest. Gandalf frowned, the wrinkles in his face making him look older, exhausted and very angry.

“If he called her his queen…I do not think, I do not like to think this; but it could have sprung from his gold sickness. Bella is young and brave and kind and very pretty for a hobbit lass. I have seen how Thorin had looked at her once after she saved his life. More than just possession and want of gold can stem from that accursed obsessive disease.”

Bard grimaced. “I do not like the sound of that.” He said. “I do not like it at all.”

“I would have had her gone far, far away before the battle started, I would still have her leave now.” Gandalf said firmly. He hesitated “…Bofur seemed certain that Thorin had recovered, but we will not know for sure until he wakes up and even then…”

“If he tries to hurt her again there will be another war.” Bard said flatly.

“I’ve grown fond of her, Thranduil likes her well enough as for all I can tell. We owe her but I can’t handle another war. None of my people can, we’ve lost too much.”

“Aye, and I’m sorry Bard.” 

Bard nodded, accepting the wizard's apology and continued down his vein of conversation.

“It’s selfish to say this, really selfish. And it's not that I do not want to have her around. My children love her, but it might be better if Bella went on her way.”    

“In the end, even if it is all for the right reasons, it will be Bella’s choice and that can wait till morning.” Gandalf insisted firmly. He clapped Bard on the shoulder.

“It is useless to worry about matters now that can only be dealt with tomorrow. Get some sleep Bowman. I promised your daughter I wouldn’t keep you up for too long.”

Bard nods, stifles a yawn. Aye, he is pretty tired; a bed no matter how lumpy does seem very appealing now.

They both trudge up the stairs to their respective rooms. A soft parting of “Good night.” and Gandalf slips behind his door. Bard lingers outside in the corridor for a moment longer pauses outside the room Tilda claimed as her own. Both Bain and Bella would be there, Bain dotted on Tilda and would automatically cave in whenever she requested something with her big doe eyes. Tilda would want Bain to stay with her that night. Bain would have taken his duty to protect her seriously.  

The room was one of the most intact ones only needed a new bed, which they replaced by merely throwing a bunch of bedding on the floor. Bard carefully quietly pulled the door open a crack. He could barely make out in the moonlight two small slumbering figures and one medium sized figure curled up close to each other. He recognized the dark head of his son. His brave young son, Bain was almost a man Bard was certain and somewhat sad. The growing up of one’s children was always a bitter sweet affair. Bain had fought bravely and Bard had heard the name ‘Dragon Arrow’ being bandied about in reference to his son. He couldn’t have been prouder of his child. Bain slept limbs sprawling out beside his sister. He slept late and hard, like the dead and like all boys did. He recognized the sheen of Tilda’s golden haired head cuddled against Bella’s form. She looked so sweet so peaceful. Bard was glad, so very glad that even after all that had happened all that they had lived through, Tilda had not yet lost that sweet childhood innocence that came only once to each and every child. He turned to Bella on Tilda’s other side, she looked better asleep. Asleep she looked almost at peace, the tight lines of her face smoothened, the rise of her chest was steady and slow, with her eyes closed he could almost pretend he had seen the deadness in her eyes, almost but not quite; the bridge of her forehead remained ever so slightly furrowed, her mouth still pressed thin even in sleep. Bard gently shut the door and retreated to his own room.

As he lay down even though he was exhausted sleep did not come to him easily. He lay in his bed still thinking. Tomorrow he would meet with Balin and most likely Dain, Thranduil even. Tomorrow perhaps the condition of Thorin and his heirs would improve maybe they would wake up. Tomorrow he’d have to do everything he did today all over again minus the war part (and perhaps he actually would need to do that again). He groaned. This is what Bain would have to deal with if Bard became King and if Bain succeeded him. Oh he had no doubt his sisters would help; Sigrid with her calm no nonsense attitude, Tilda with her gentleness and boundless exuberance. If he had to take the crown build a kingdom from scratch he would damn make sure that he would leave a worthwhile kingdom for Bain. The first step was tomorrow when he would meet with the king of the elves and the king of the dwarves. He hoped they wouldn’t try to kill each other this time around.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear we are going back to Bella someday but I'm having too much fun playing around with the diff characters I'm thinking Dain next I like Dain he's ok.


	8. What now? (or Dain is a stickler for the rules)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Meeting between Kings.

Dain surveyed the tent, as of now while Erebor and Dale were undergoing reconstruction from the Dragon’s attack; a tent had to do for now for any official meetings negotiations, diplomacy yadda yadda yadda. It was a sad thing never mentioned in the songs that after all the head-bashing, disemboweling and carnage that was the battlefield the songs would never mention the tedious paper work afterwards. Dain tended to try and get that part over with as quickly and efficiently as possible or have Maruk deal with it.

Maruk was one of his advisors, an Iron hill Dwarf bred and born. Maruk had been his advisor for nigh centuries now. Dain trusted him with his life. Balin was also with him seated to his left, officially as an advisor and temporarily speaking for the heirs of Durin since all three were still incapacitated and representing the Company. Also at the meeting were Bard the Dragon Slayer soon to be king of Dale, grim faced and living up to his name as Bard the Grim. Thranduil king of Mirkwood and his son, Dain didn’t have the immense discrimination Thorin had for the elves, and they did fight alongside his soldiers; it did not mean he would trust the pointy eared elf farther than he could throw him and by extension the elf’s son as well. Gandalf the grey wizard was here was well. He had weaseled in on this meeting. Ah well Dain had reason to believe that the Wizard was half the reason why Thorin made it to the Lonely Mountain in the first place. Thorin had the ‘Durin Sense of Direction’ which is to say nearly none at all. Dain cleared his throat to get their attention; once all eyes were on him, he spoke.

“So now that we’re all here. Let’s get this started. First order of business what do you all want?”

Beside him Balin winced and looked horrified at his lack of tack. Maruk shot the elderly dwarf a sympathetic smile. Dain smiled inwardly, Balin had no idea what he had gotten into.

The Bowman smiled just a little, Thranduil raised an imperious eyebrow, his son looked a bit surprised his eyes widening that was all and Gandalf chuckled softly into his beard. 

“What was promised to my people, nothing more and nothing less.” Bard spoke up first.

“Do you still have the Arkenstone?” Dain asks bluntly.

In response Bard reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the blinding white gem, shinning with splendor. Dain struggles to keep his face neutral and fails slightly, for all dwarves have a love of gems and this one is by far is the fairest. In his peripheral vision the expressions of shock, wonder and awe Maruk has for the stone as well as an undercurrent of anger that a _man_ handles so carelessly what rightfully belongs to the dwarves. He also catches a flash of a wholly disgusted and intense _hatred_ flit across Balin’s face before it schools itself back into neutrality. It’s not surprising; this stone with all its beauty has wrought only ruin and chaos on the line of Durin. Bard slides the stone back into his coat after everyone has clearly seen it. Dain has to kick Maruk from under the table to stop him from releasing a torrent of abused Khuzdul aimed at Bard for the utter flippancy the Bowman has in handling the Artkenstone. 

“What was promised to the people of Laketown will be delivered by latest tomorrow; my kin are loading the wagons for transportation into Dale as we speak, but clearing the road from Erebor to Dale will take some time.” Balin promises.

 _Aye, I reckon clearing away the dead bodies and the stone from when you smashed the bridge will take some time._ Dain thinks and by Bard’s expression the Bowman is probably thinking something along the same lines as well.

“The amount will be enough to rebuild Dale into the city it was of old and to repay the alliance you made with the elves.” said Balin

Legolas looks satisfied. Thranduil casts a meaningful look at Bard to which the Bowman replies with a slight nod.

Dain admires the way Balin has handled it; all in all it is a smooth way of saying to Bard, ‘You’ll be the one to pay the elves for their troubles.’

“That is acceptable; tomorrow I will bring my men with me to receive the gold promised to us. You will get the Arkenstone in return.” Bard says.

Maruk’s lips press into a thin line and Dain lays a restraining hand on his arm. Maruk for all his years at court has always been a bit of a traditionalist at heart but the dwarf calms down; and talk turns technical; to topics of supplies and trading and the upcoming winter. They are lucky this year it is a mild winter they have time to insulate themselves for the cold. Dain lets Balin and Maruk do most of the talking, they knows what they need, and how to get it and how to compromise. Strangely similar, Thranduil lets Legolas do most of the negotiating for him, and Bard drives a surprisingly hard bargain. Hours drag and just before the meeting ends; Dain decides they have danced around this issue long enough. It’s time to open another can of worms. He gives a sidelong glance to Maruk and the dwarf gives the go ahead. They have achieved most of what they want. A break in alliance short of actual warfare again will not hurt his people. He is not so sure about the future, about those who will relocate back to Lonely Mountain, but do they really want to rebuild the future of Erebor with an unresolved matter hanging over them like an avalanche?

“There’s one last thing I need to know before the meeting can adjourn. Where is the halfling? She is still here isn’t she?”

All at once every tall folk bristled. Balin winced and shook his head at Dain which Dain ignored.

“The _hobbit_.” Bard enunciated clearly. “Is under the protection of both Dale and Mirkwood”

“Greenwood.” Thranduil corrects, he says so with a little nod in Bard’s direction.

“And my protection as well.” Gandalf says. His tone brokers no argument; there is a reason why he is the harbinger of ill news.

Three powers have just laid down their vouches of protection over one hobbit, two old and well established in their power, one just barely budding into its potential. Balin makes warning looks with his face. _Stop this now._ But Dain knows it won’t deter Maruk from saying what he thinks needs to be said. The matter needs to be dealt with, best to strike while the iron is hot.

“That’s all well and good for her.” Maruk says carefully. “But where is she? Is she still _here_?” Maruk gestures wildly around him; as if he expects they have hidden under the table the whole time.

“To put it bluntly, the burglar hasn’t left yet has she?” Dain asks.

Bard, Thranduil and Legolas remain silent it only is Gandalf that gives him a straightforward answer.

“No, she has not left yet. She is still here.”

Balin heaved a soft sigh of relief, both Dain and Maruk nodded satisfied; that was enough for now.

“Good she shouldn’t leave yet.” Dain said bluntly.

“And why not?” Bard demands sharply, clearly agitated. His palms spread out on the table and half rising from his seat.

“What is keeping her here? Why can’t she leave if she wants too?”

Dain looks at him as if he is stupid, but before he can speak Balin beats him to it.

“What—Lord Dain means is that Bella has played no small part in this quest it would be impudent to let her go without recognition and reward for all she has accomplished.”

Dain raises an eyebrow at Balin, Maruk throws him an equally incredulous look.

“Recognition, reward, _right_ , but honestly are you seriously just going to let her go like that? Thanks for your trouble following Thorin half way across Arda; it’s completely fine you stole the Arkenstone from under my cousin’s nose. Completely fine that he tried to kill you. Run along now.” Dain shook his head.

“She needs to be judged for her actions. There needs to be a trial.”

“She stole the Arkenstone to _protect_ the Company and y _our cousin tried to kill her for it!!_ Any fool can see that!” Bard yelled.

 _Aye to protect the Company from your lot that is._ Dain thinks.

“But did she have a right to?” Dain fires back “Bella claimed the Arkenstone as the fourteenth share of the treasure, but the Arkenstone is worth more than the whole damned hoard itself!”

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to mention that to the man who currently had the Arkenstone in his possession, but to demand more than what was promised would be dishonorable, a breach of the arrangement the man had made with the hobbit, besides the elf king knew the true worth of the Arkenstone anyway. Dain privately thought the elf king would try to milk every nugget of gold he could from the Bowman  

Maruk takes it as his cue to do damage control.

“Regardless of her motives what she did was a breach of contract.” Maruk insists and is now the one calming Dain down placing an understanding if restraining hand on his lord.

“Without Belladonna Baggins your cousin’s quest would have failed many times over. She saved them _at risk of her own life_ on multiple accounts. Saved them from even the elves.” Gandalf says in a deceptively quiet and calm voice. Dain suppresses a shiver. It’s the kind of voice that brings to mind the image of knives in the dark.

Thranduil shoots an irritated look at the wizard which everyone ignores. Legolas presses his lips tightly together in a poor effort to hide his smile.

“Aye.” Balin agrees. “I can attest to that. Without Bella we would not be standing here today. She has done all and more than she was hired to and more. Dain my lord if you listen to a recount of the quest first—”

“I have listened to some parts of it, and some I find hard to believe but you can convince me Balin of what was exaggerated or not, she did or did not do _at her trial._ ” Dain says with an air of finalty.

“We understand the hobbit played no small part in the quest of Thorin Son of Thrain Son of Thror. What she did then will be evaluated and weighed against what she has done now. The hobbit’s actions past and present need to be judged properly and accordingly before anything can be decided about her.”

 _Before she can leave, or if she can leave in honor or disgrace._ Dain thinks.

“Bella is not a dwarf; cannot the discussion of such certain formalities be waved off until Thorin awakes?” Balin pleads. _Can’t we talk about this another time?_ His expression asks.

 _Nope._ Dain’s expression replies.

“Of course!” Dain said, purposely misinterpreting Balin’s request. Why is it as if the dwarf is trying to stop him? The matter needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later. The burglar could be leaving tomorrow for all they knew. Perhaps Balin has grown too fond of the hobbit or pities her too much yet it is no excuse to the obstruction of justice.

“There can’t be a trial without Thorin awake anyway I am just saying _the hobbit can’t leave until judgment has been passed down on her._ ”

Bard’s snarls the man moves to stand out of his seat. Dain almost expects the Bowman to launch himself at him, but Thranduil stops Bard with a firm hand to his arm; the elf turns to Dain and asks.  

“Is Belladonna Baggins not already banished? Truly the greed of the dwarves extends to more than just gold. Has your bloodlust not already been sated by this war?” _Do you want another one?_  Thranduil’s tone was scoffing, though his eyes are sharp and hard as flint.

Maruk’s complexion begins to turn red and he gives a snarl of his own.

“It has nothing to do with ‘bloodlust’.” Maruk snaps. “This is about justice! In truth the hobbit’s banishment doesn’t stand! There needs to be a trial first before she can be sentenced.”

“But Balin _is_ right. Bella is _not_ a dwarf why should be subject to your law?” Bard asks glowering at Dain. He has not shaken off Thranduil’s hand and seems almost to be fortified by it.

“Aye, she isn’t a dwarf but she is part of Thorin’s Company. She signed the contract. There is no way around it. Bella agreed to the terms of the contract under dwarf law and she will be tired for its breach under dwarf law.” Dain says bluntly then sighs.

“Has it ever occurred to you Master Bard that you could contest for her innocence at her trial as well?”

“But if she is found guilty by your laws what will happen to her? What will you do to her?” Legolas asks.

“That will depend on Thorin’s version and persective of events as well; she signed herself to his service after all.” Dain answers “And Thorin is still the king. That will not change.”

“But Thorin tried to kill her. _”_ Legolas says incredulously.

“Gentlemen! We are going around in circles.” Balin cries out loud before things can get out of hand again.

And they are really, it’s ridiculous. A trial by dwarvish law means the prosecuted will be defended, will be respectfully represented. His/her side of the story heard out to an unbiased jury. And they do not have their trials just when one party is accused guilty of a crime; trials are used by dwarves to determine the valor of one’s deeds and how he/she should be honored. Yes Thorin will have the right to judge as his right as king, as the burglar’s employer. Bella has wronged Thorin. Thorin has wronged Bella. Dain is not stupid enough to believe two wrongs make a right.  

“Aye; that we are so let us return to the crux of the matter. _The hobbit lass cannot leave until Thorin has woken up and she can be tried for her actions._ ”

Gandalf speaks suddenly.

“Can you guarantee that when Thorin wakes up he will be free of Gold Sickness?” _Can you handle another gold mad king on the throne?_

Dain hesitates, no, no they can’t, especially not on a rebuilding kingdom. Yes Thorin fought in the war. Yes he led that mad charge that boosted everyone’s moral allowing them to hold on till the unexpected arrival of the eagles. Yes he seemed clear headed and sane, cured even perhaps when Dain spoke to him but that was in the middle of all the carnage and chaos of battle, where giant eagles dived bombed the enemy’s giant flying bats and an enormous sentiment brown bear fell out of the sky. Everything there was as sane as their surroundings.

But still no one in all of recorded history has managed to pull himself out of Gold Sickness. No one has ever recovered. In all reported cases; the afflicted suffered till they died; till their madness drove them to their deaths.

“Thorin was more himself when I spoke to him, but as for when he wakes up...well he hasn’t yet has he? But Thorin will want to speak to her at the very least. Will you not give him that?” Dain asks.

Gandalf’s expression remains stoic and Legolas looks hesitant but Dain can read the negative expressions easily enough on Bard’s and Thranduil’s faces.

“I give you my word not one hair of her curly head will be harmed.” Dain promises. “But she needs to stay can you not see the logic in that? You say she is under the protection of both Mirk—‘Sorry I mean _Greenwood,_ Dale and your own protection Gandalf. So long as she stays within the general area then.”

“And will you try to stop her if she tries to leave?” It is Legolas this times who asks.

“Yes.” Dain says bluntly “I gave you my word that we would not harm her but if she is seen attempting to leave Dale. We will take her into our own custody, _unharmed_.”

Dain stresses though Bard’s expression still sours.

“You will not let her go?”

“We will not let her go, _yet._ ” Dain changes the topic.

“I want to meet her; this hobbit lass. I would like to talk to her.”

“Bella has not fully recovered.” Gandalf says. “Perhaps when she has sufficiently healed then a meeting with her may be arranged, and despite all our…disagreements she cannot leave yet at any rate.”

Dain shoots an angry look at the wizard. _Could he not have mentioned this earlier?_

“Then that settles it. The hobbit can’t leave yet anyway. Now are there any other matters that need to be discussed?”

There is a sullen silence. Bard looks like he would like to say more but Thranduil again holds him back.

“Good meeting adjourned lets have some lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods above I hated this chapter. But I needed a catalyst for this next scene that I like and this whole thing is turning into a mess. Why did I write this. Oh I know why I wrote this. Writing is a love/hate thing and I WANT MY HAPPY ENDING.   
> So screw me.  
> On a completely different note lets have Bofur again I like Bofur too.


	9. Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur has always watched over Bella what is going to stop him now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry, quizzes popping up so I might not be posting so often. Thank you to all who have commented! I am so happy and appreciate everything :). I feel your good vibes. As for the trial...I am sorry to disappoint but it's not gonna happen soon. Baby first and I'll get there eventually this sort of got out of hand.

Bofur had heard the turnout of the meeting between kings first hand from Balin when the old dwarf spilled the news to them. That little meeting almost lost itself to chaos as well. Almost all of the Company demanding they would go to Bella then and there right now damn the consequences. They needed to see her, talk to her, and explain things to her. They missed her. Even those with more severe injuries, which pissed Oin of to no end and Gloin by extension; he was the one who had to hold Bifur and Dwalin down after they attempted to lunge off their cots and either a) find Bella and protect her or b) give Dain a piece of their mind. Both courses of action would have potentially undesirable results

All in all the Company knew that Bella was alive and safe, Bofur had already told them what transpired between him and Bard (though admittedly he kept quiet about his promise to assist Bella if she wanted to leave) he said only that the Bowman had reassured him Bella was quite safe and under protection.

They then still had wanted to see Bella, they would have crossed mountains, lakes rivers, go through Mordor and back to speak to their Hobbit. Balin himself had broached the issue with the Gandalf before the meeting between kings but he had denied them.

“Bella is more than hurt in mind and body she suffers in heart and soul which you have played a small part of; I do not think she would be glad to see you now, for you to see her as she is.”

“If you could tell us where she is, we could send a message.” Balin pleaded

“No, no messages and I’m not telling you where she is.”

Balin had continued to incessantly badger the wizard until Gandalf had actually threatened that anyone who tried would end up with his staff up their arse.

“She has suffered enough Master Balin! I do not think that even you dwarves would be so cruel to add to her pain.” Balin had flinched stunned and hurt. He opened his mouth to defend himself and his kin that causing Bella pain was the last thing they wanted. The wizard had sighed then, almost in remorse to Balin’s shock. His voice became gentle and soft but his words were like a slap to the face.

“Must I say it bluntly? _She does not want anything to do with you._ ”      

So she did not want anything to do with them, to see them, to speak with them or even hear them through a letter. They could not blame her for that. Balin stopped asking. When he told the Company this they had all grown quiet. No more talk of visiting or finding the whereabouts of their burglar, until Balin had told them about Dain’s demand for a trial.

The Company knew what Bella had done was necessary that she had in mind their best interests of their survival done only what she could have done to keep them _alive._ To demand a trial then and there in the meeting between kings was unnecessary, asinine and in Dwalin’s own word’s.  

“Is Dain fecking stupid? Insisting, commanding Bella stay here is only going to make her want to bolt!”

Balin had sighed and answered:

“He knows that, I think he weighed it already against the chance that she would leave at the earliest opportunity and decided it would be best to… lay claim she is to be tried before she even can leave. He’s put Bard’s house under surveillance.”

“How the hell did he manage that without the king to be blowing his top off?”

“Ravens.”

“ _Yavanna’s fecking tits.”_

That low fervent curse came from _Ori_ of all people for a moment the whole company stared at the young dwarf Dori especially looked scandalized and Nori while shocked seemed rather proud. Ori flushed with embarrassment but held his head high and said with no small amount of indignation.

“The Ravens of Erebor have primarily been messengers, carriers, couriers even; not to be used as _petty spies._ ” Ori spat and then took a sidelong look at Nori. “I-I mean no offence Nadad it’s just—”

“Aye I know.” Nori reassured his little brother. “It also makes my skin crawl to see how easily Dain has taken control of this…situation, even comfortable enough to get the Ravens to do his bidding.” Nori shook his head and added darkly. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Couldn’t you have stopped it? Begging your pardon Master Balin but couldn’t you have stopped Dain from calling out a trial?” Dori asked his tone unfailingly polite and it eased some of the sting his question carried.

And Balin answered in the same tone though his bitterness leaked through.

“Do you think I have not tried? I did not know he would call out a trial like that he made no mention of it to me beforehand. When I confronted him, he called me soft, said I was too fond of the hobbit that my regard for her blinded me.”

Dwalin had snarled at the insult towards his brother and Oin whacked him with his ear trumpet.

“No you stay in bed, you can rip Dain a new one _after_ your leg has healed.”

Bifur too has muttered some dark curse. Bombur patted his cousin’s shoulder.

“Somehow I think that would only make that worse Nadagumil.” Bomber said dryly and then turned to Balin.

“If we could speak to Dain if we could explain the situation ourselves, Bella’s innocence.” Bombur suggested. Balin shook his head.

“He’d tell us to save it for the trial, he would also think we are biased, he probably thinks _I_ am biased.”

Dwalin growled low in this throat. A prize attribute of a true advisor was his ability to be unbiased, to be almost distant perhaps; logical. It is to see the truth of a situation; of a person; of a people and decide from there what would next be the best course of action even if the choice was between two evils, or detrimental in a short run. It is to look the king in the eye, the lord and master of your life and be not afraid to tell him he is wrong or when he has overstepped his bounds.

Bofur could take no more of this gut churning with unease he stood up and made his way to the exit of the tent.

“Bofur where are you going?” Balin cried out alarmed afraid perphaps that the miner would do something unwise, something that could potentially harm Bella’s reputation further.  

“To see Thorin, Fili and Kili! Maybe they will have woken up enough to help deal with this mess, if not then I envy their sleep!”

Bombur attempted to follow his brother but Bifur laid a gentle but restraining hand against him. Bless that axe-headed dwarf sometimes he was the only one who could see that Bofur’s jovial nature could not last forever. Sometimes the miner needed to be alone.

Bofur left them still talking in the tent his mind swirling with thoughts a buzz. For Bella to escape she needed funds, for Bella to escape she would need to go unseen unnoticed. That would not be too hard for her. Bella had managed to escape undetected in the goblin tunnels had managed to go a week undetected in Thranduil’s dungeons. Dain was most likely underestimating her since the bloody dragon woke up anyway, so she would potentially have the element of surprise. But a little outside help wouldn’t hurt a little extra guarantee that Dain’s forces would be looking the other way when Bella left; if she wanted to leave. He needed to speak with Bard.

If the King of Dale would even deign to speak with him that is, after the farce that was the meeting between kings Bofur wasn’t sure whether he’d be received to turned out on his arse.  

Bofur shook his head and kept walking towards the healer’s tents.

The war had only been _yesterday_ and already people were still finding excuses to bash each other’s heads in. That wasn’t quite right actually Bofur hoped, knew that everyone was in their own way trying to work for peace. It was just a very, very rough path after all.

He wouldn’t be able to talk to Bard himself not without arousing suspicion, but he knew where Sigrid was, it would not arouse suspicion if he talked to Sigrid. After all what suspicion would it cause for a very concerned member of the Company to go seek out the Crown Prince Fili’s condition and just happen to chat with his pretty nurse while she was there?

 

The guards outside the tent greeted Bofur politely as he went inside, he barely spared them a greeting as well, and made a mental note to keep his voice down. Inside the tent he saw that the man’s daughter Sigrid had been decked out in the green robes of the elves. it fitted her well enough although she had to pin a bit of the sleeves back. She was not alone in the tent, Tauriel too was there and a dwarf, one of Dain’s people a healer as well by his garb. Bofur did not recognize him. They looked up when Bofur entered. He gestured to the tent’s other three occupants lying on the cots unconscious.

“No change?” He asked

“None.” Sigrid said.

“May I take a look?” This was directed at the dwarven healer.

“Be my guest, though nothing has changed.” He said gruffly. “They’re still asleep they’ll stay sleep until they have recovered enough strength to wake up.”

Bofur stepped towards the heirs of Durin. Thorin’s bed was in the middle, Fili on this right and Kili at his left.

Their leader lay pale, clean and breathing. They had dressed him in a plain blue linen shirt, and a clean white blanket was pulled up to his neck. His eyes were closed his expression lax and his dark hair silver streaked hair was unbound fanning out on the pillow. That made Bofur feel a sharp jap of fear, of disconcertedness. It was wrong to see Thorin unbraided and his hair loose, his braid and beads were missing. His braids and beads were never missing; and that expression on his face or lack of it…Thorin was always brooding, to see him so lax his chest rise and fall so shallowly…

Clean white bandages had been wound across his forehead, Bofur had no doubt there were more underneath the thick blanket.

He turned to Fili next, oh he too was too much like his uncle, expression lax and braids undone, hair fanned out like a golden halo. His chest rose and fell in the same shallow pattern. There were no bandages on his face though but around his neck, Bofur gulped then remembering how close the Crown Price had been to death, a little bit deeper, a little more to the right…He did not want to think on it; could not think on it.

Kili was last and honestly Kili looked the best of them. It was not so strange to see his hair loose and fanned out, though the shallowness of his breaths worried Bofur somewhat. The young spare was scowling in his sleep, a slight frown on his face. Not peaceful, not lax, disturbed almost angry and blessedly obviously alive and well on staying that way. It was a child’s scowl in the way it was almost pouting. Bofur smiled and turned away, satisfied enough at least the heirs of Durin were safe, were alive and would stay that way.

He turned back to the trio of healers in the tent but did not know what to say. Bofur had wanted to speak to Sigrid and Tauriel alone or at least one of the two, he had no way of shooing out that dwarven healer. It turned out he needed to do nothing. Tauriel and the male healer had been embroiled in a quiet argument that was now increasing in volume and optimistically Bofur thought it would soon be taken outside.

“I still maintain that—” said Tauriel and was interrupted by the healer’s angry outburst of:

“Now look here Missy I’m one of Dain’s best damn healers in the whole army!”

“So am I in regards to King Thranduil’s army. I have trained for many, many years under the best healers of Mirkwood.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t know how long you’ve been ‘training’ but I’ve been practicing my trade since I could walk!”

“I am not doubting your experience Master Korvu—”

Korvu, so that was the healer’s name. Bofur siddled up to Sigrid.

“What are they arguing about?”

“Dwarf medicine verses elf medicine.” Sigrid said giving a small nod towards the two quarrelers.

“They were at it before you got here; it’s pretty funny to watch them. There were times I thought that Tauriel would attempt to just pick up the Master Korvu and throw him bodily out of the tent.”

“Master Korvu would most likely try to strangle Tauriel with her own hair, if she did that.” Bofur remarked dryly. Sigrid stifled a laugh.

“But do they have to do it here though? They might be disturbing Thorin, Fili and Kili.” Bofur remarked in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. Sigrid had looked at him thoughtfully. 

“Good point.”

Sigrid strode towards them laying a hand on their shoulders, while her touch was gentle her voice was harsh and commanding.

“Stop this nonsense! I have been a healer since all of yesterday and even I can tell that yelling at each other will only be detrimental to our patients! If you must argue take it outside.”

Tauriel had huffed but her eyes understood then what Sigrid meant in context.

“She is right Master Korvu. A matter like this can be settled some other time.” Tauriel made a show of stretching and said.

“In the meantime I am going for a small walk.”

“And abandon your patients like that?” Master Korvu snarked.

Tauriel gave an impatient shake of her head.

“We have already established they are stable, their bandages do not require changing yet and they have already been fed and nothing more can be done until they wake up.” She red haired elf arched a slim eyebrow at the dwarf. “Unless you think that Master Bofur can’t be trusted with his own king and heirs to the throne?”

Master Korvu bristled.

“It is not that—”

“Whatever it is can take priority later, I am going to check on my other patients now, I suspect they need _proper_ care and attention.”

The word was so needled and barbed that even to Bofur it was obviously pointed at Master Korvu, who snarled at Tauriel as she primly walked herself out; furious he turned to Bofur.

“You see any changes, if they wake up or anything at all you call me send one of the guards or a runner they will know where to find me.” He commanded then raced after Tauriel.   
Bofur could hear the faint strains of an argument picking up again. He turned to Sigrid and she looked at him expectantly her face turned grim. She bent her head towards him so he could whisper.

“Did she say anything about us? Is she alright?”

Sigrid shook her head. “I left at the crack of dawn.” She admitted. “Only my Da was awake so I don’t know. You’d have to ask the wizard for information.”

“Already did, he told us that she…she didn’t want to see us.” More truthfuly would have been: _She didn’t want anything to do with us._ But uttering those words enough brought a fresh pang of pain into his heart. She didn’t want to see them, perhaps she hated them. Hated them for doing nothing while she tried to save all their skins, while Thorin tried to kill her for it; he could not blame her.

“I don’t blame her and I don’t mean it like that!” She said upon seeing Bofur’s depressed and defeated expression. She hastily dropped her voice into a whisper.

“She was…exhausted and broken when she came off the battlefield. She was…I was young enough to remember when my mother died and the wreck my father became after. She looked like that, like the lake had swallowed the sun into its cold dark depths and it was winter forever more. She doesn’t look good I don’t think she wants anyone to see her like that.”

“I wish you hadn’t told me that lass.” said Bofur, feeling even more guilty for his omission. “You see we’re most likely the ones who did the breaking.”

She had nothing to say to that, she believed him; but still seeing him utterly repentant and miserable at what he had done or failed to do and doing everything he could to make amends to help Bella escape even if it meant that they would never see her again forever. It softened her heart towards him.

Bofur spoke again breaking the silence, they only had a limited time before Tauriel and Korvu came back after all.

“I need to speak with your Da.”

“Da is not happy with your lot.” She whispered back. Bofur tried to explain.

“Dain is not my king what he is doing is in disregard to the Company’s wishes.

“I know.” Sigrid admits “You can’t talk to Da now but—“ She dropped her voice lower than a whisper Bofur had to strain to hear her.

“He’s working on smuggling her out. You’ll see, he’ll get her out; if she wants to get out.” Sigrid amended, kind girl that she was, Bofur smiled; kind enough to entertain a foolish dwarf’s hope.

“Da is the best smuggler there is; he’s got a lot of experience working from under the noses of the people in charge.”

Bofur didn’t doubt that. He had witnessed Bard’s smuggling skills first hand even though he had to admit they were a bit unorthodox.

“What do you need?” he asked.  
“Can’t happen yet without supplies, funds, food a pony, you know.” Sigrid shrugged.

“We’re working on it.”

“If I could get you those supplies, funds at least?

“Da has enough of his own.”

“But what if I want to?”

She arched a slim eyebrow at him; no doubt she learned that from Tauriel.

“Please what if I want to?”

“I’ll need to talk to my Da first and to Tauriel, she’s the one arranging for supplies and a pony along with Gandalf. And you’ll need to come up with a good sized amount of gold without anyone knowing, anyone seeing and somehow carry it all the way across to Dale without notice.”

Bofur nodded. “I like those odds, and I know just the dwarf to help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know where I am going  
> But not how far I will go  
> Can you forgive me,   
> If I take it slow?


	10. Tryst (not that kind sorry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and Nori  
> While i am admittedly partial to Dwalin and Nori, my want for Dwalin and Ori wins out here and no, no threesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damnit I know how important setting can be and stuff but just pretend for a moment Nori can find a small little alcove where he and Bofur won’t be disturbed cause he’s an awesome thief/spy thing like that.

Sigrid promised Bofur they would speak again at another time. He took one last look at the heirs of Durin and left their tent.

Where could he find the thief? If he was Nori where would he be? It would be easiest to check the most obvious place first; Nori shared a tent with his brothers perhaps he would be there, the cooking tents was the next best place. Nori loved a good drink as much as he did and made a wonderful drinking partner. Bofur liked the thief, he had a brand of humor that matched his own, enjoyed spinning yarns, and was fiercely devoted to his brothers, the same way Bofur was devoted to his own brother and cousin. Plus he was quite a looker, with red hair and bright green eyes. Finding the thief would give him an excuse to talk to Nori alone, in private.

Bofur headed to the Company’s campsite. There were a number of tents the Company was sharing with each other. Most family shared a tent, the Ri brothers shared one, Oin and Gloin shared one, Bofur himself was sharing one with Bombur. The only exceptions were Balin who had a tent of his own unshared with anyone because Oin had billeted Bifur and Dwalin together, the two warriors having been the most heavily injured and bedridden.

As he was walking his stomach growled reminding him it had been hours since he had last eaten. Bofur stopped in his tracks, perhaps he would visit the cooks first, grab a bite to eat, an early dinner before finding Nori, Bombur was there and his brother was certain to have saved a few choice pieces for Bofur. His plan (which admittedly hinged on a certain thief’s cooperation) could wait a little later.

Bofur changed his course heading to the cooking tents, as he passed on of the storage tents with empty crates stacked outside; he was grabbed by his sleeve and jerked hard and fast to the side, behind the food crates. Bofur fell hard on his arse but immediately came up swinging with his mattock in hand, the weapon clashed once hard against the knife of his assailant with and only then did Bofur realize who it was and jumped back.

“Nori! The heck!? What’d you do that for?”

“You’re sharp Bofur.” The red haired dwarf drawled pocketing his knife.

_So that was what parried my mattock._

“I’d like to have a private word with you, without prying eyes or ears.”

“That is a coincidence—”

“Shh!” Nori clamped a hand over Bofur’s mouth.

“We can talk a little later, keep quiet and come with me.”

They kept to the shadows which was not hard by the setting sun, Nori led Bofur away from the cooking tents. When his stomach protested Nori threw him an apple,

“Here eat that; can’t have your belly giving us away.”

“Mighty obliged.” Bofur murmured. It wasn’t fresh but it was sweet enough if a tad bit mealy. They went a short distance away from the mess tents, away from the camps; almost camping out as it were, small copse of thorny bushes, large jutting rocks, what could have been an outpost once that was just rubble.

It was a secluded little place, no one would find them here unless they actively searched.

“Here we can talk here.” Nori decided, one they were sufficiently hidden by stone. He pulled a blanket out of his pack, and sat on it gesturing for Bofur to do the same. When the miner sat down Nori pulled several more items of foodstuff, bread rolls, chunks of cheese, another apple, a large floppy wineskin from his pack and handed a good share to Bofur; a little more than he gave himself Bofur saw. He felt slightly guilty that he was too caught up by his own hunger to protest. But all in all they both had enough for a light dinner for each of themselves. Nori had planned this, Bofur realized. He had come prepared.

“This is rather quaint.” said Bofur, teasingly and really it was, a small secluded little corner, picnic like fare, the sun was setting painting the sky in brilliant shades of purple and pink shot through with dusky orange. All they needed to make this atmosphere romantic was a candle and a fiddler in the background.

“If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were taking me out to dinner.”

Nori rolled his eyes.

“I _am_ taking you out to dinner, but that’s only because I don’t want your stomach to give us away, trust me if I was singling you out for a tryst I’d do it with a lot more class than this.”

Oh but this was good enough, this was already really nice in Bofur’s opinion. Sitting next to Nori, close enough for their knees to brush, drinking from the same wineskin, just them, with the light catching off Nori’s hair turning it into red gold and his eyes into verdite. They ate first, and took turns with the wineskin; his mouth on the same place, same container that Nori’s mouth had been on. Bofur had almost forgotten what he had first been seeking the thief out for, if the certain thief in question had not reminded him. 

“Now what is it that you were trying to say?” asked Nori.

“I was just looking for you. You’re just the dwarf I wanted to see.”

Nori raised his eyebrow.

“Usually people only want to see me either to arrest me or steal something for them.” He said wryly. Bofur blushed.

“Um…well yeah about that—” Bofur said sheepishly, took a deep breath and started.

“Look I need really your help, but ye don’t have to help me if you don’t want to. It’s just that you’re the first person, the only person I think can do this for me, but if ye really don’t want to help me then I’d be mighty obliged if you kept it a secret. But you first.” Bofur interrupted his own tirade to say politely.

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Nori studied him, it disconcerted Bofur it was as if Nori already knew what he would be asking of Nori, as if Nori knew what Bofur had been doing, had _not_ been saying.

“Nah, you go first Bofur. You’ve piqued my interest; what is it that you of all people need a thief to do after all?”

Bofur shifted uncomfortably.

“Can you get me some of my gold from the vault without notice? I mean I will have it recorded, formally deducted, accounted for stuff like that but perhaps not till later?” “What for?” Nori asked. Bofur felt a cold sweat run down his back the thief’s sharp green eyes pinning him down, seeing straight through him those sharp green eyes like shards of verdite.

“I have a debt to pay, a rather sensitive sort of debt, it’s a transaction I’d like to conduct discretely.”

“How much?”

Bofur hesitantly met Nori’s eyes. They glittered in the light, Nori’s eyes. Bofur wondered how much he could see and how much he had seen.

“Not a big amount, doesn’t have to be all gold either. Just enough to be fit in a small chest that can be tucked under one arm; like a big jewelry box.” 

“Enough for a one way trip across Arda? Let’s say all the way back to the Shire?” Bofur choked on his food and then sighed.

“I was doing a fecking terrible job of being discrete wasn’t I?”

“Utterly terrible.” Nori said cheerfully candid. He smiled at Bofur, but it was a rueful smile, a resigned one.

“I knew you would try something like this, it’s for her isn’t it?”

They both knew who _her_ was, who Bofur would do so much for.

“She deserves to be happy Nori.” Bofur insisted, almost pleading with Nori for him to understand.

“After all that has happened after all she did and we did to her. We should have helped her and we didn’t. I remember, I remember the expression on her face as she climbed down. We stole the light from her eyes, and we broke her heart. I just… I want her to be safe and happy that’s all.” he said helplessly.

“And if there is a chance that she’d be happy back there with her books and armchair, her garden and house then I want her to take it.”

“You don’t think she could be happy here?” Nori asked softly.

“You heard what the wizard said; _she wants nothing to do with us._ ” He said bitterly.

There was a silence. Bofur could see aye Nori did remember, and the words had struck harder than he had thought; harder that he intended to. A sharp hurt expression flashed across Nori’s face in that brief vulnerable moment Bofur could see that Nori’s pain mirrored his own. Bofur opened his mouth to apologize or say something, anything to lessen that pain but Nori beat him to it.

“Don’t you want her to stay? Don’t you think we would want her to stay? That _Thorin_ would want her to stay?” Asked Nori

“But does _she_ want to stay? Would she be safe is she stayed?” Bofur countered.

“Dain gave his word that no one of the Iron Hills would harm her.”

“I’m not talking of the Iron Hills.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

“Do you really think that?” Nori asked quietly.

“Honestly? Truthfully and in my heart? No I don’t, I don’t know if _she_ does though. And you Master Nori?”

Nori shrugged.

“He seemed sane enough for me but then again we were preparing for a suicidal charge into a carnage wrecked battlefield outnumbered twenty to one against hordes and hordes of orcs, wargs, trolls and other dark races. It’ll really all depend when he wakes up.”

“That could take a week to a month.” Bofur argued.

“My money’s on at most a week.” Nori said glibly, hopefully, then,

“How are you going to get the funds to her?”

“Bard, Sigrid and Tauriel they’re in on it too.”

Nori arched an eyebrow

“My, you have been busy haven’t you?” He asked dryly.

Bofur blushed and hesitated, but he trusted Nori for good or for hill he trusted this thief and he decided to tell Nori everything; Sigrid waylaying him Tauriel and Sigrid bringing him to see Bard, the conversation they had yesterday evening and the conversation he just had with Sigrid that very afternoon.

Nori listened thoughtfully and when Bofur was done speaking he said.

“So that was what you were doing when you said you were going to check on Thorin, Fili and Kili.”

“Aye.”

Nori nodded he looked away from Bofur for a moment his face becoming thoughtful and pensive.

“From what you told me, I think that Bard would give her enough to make it back to the Shire anyway. Bard was promised and will receive a shit-ton of gold tomorrow anyway.”

“But it’s not…it won’t be from me. I want to give her something. I want to make it up to her. I want to do this. Besides Bard needs that gold to rebuild both Dale and Laketown, and to pay the elves, even if he’s going to receive a shit-ton of gold he will need a shit-ton of gold.”

Nori sighed, “You’re determined to do this aren’t you?” he shook his head and did not bother waiting for Bofur’s answer.

“Having Bard being the one to receive the gold this actually makes it a lot easier, when they send out what was promised to Bard I can sneak in an extra bit of treasure to him there.”

“So you’re helping me then?” Bofur asked hopefully.

Nori gave him a rueful smile.

“Aye, I am but I won’t just be _helping_ you Bofur; to but it bluntly I’d like to take over this operation of yours. It’s for your own safety I suggest you drop this now. Drop the whole thing, and walk away from this. Let me handle everything and start lying low for now.”

“Why? What for?” Bofur asked confused a bit indignant and put out. It was his plan after all. Nori shook his head and said simply:

“Dain, he’s not stupid though he can certainly act like it. He knows by blowing off Balin like that the Company won’t be… _partial_ to him and he knows that we are quite fond of her. He has set his eyes on us and has been trying to keep the Company busy and apart from each other as much as he can.”

Bofur spluttered angrily.  
“He can’t do that! Besides most of us have _family_ in the Company! It’s impossible.”

“Aye, that should be true but like I said he’s not stupid.

What he is doing isn’t obvious which makes it work so well. Most of us have been kept too busy to even think about the Hobbit lass much less plan her escape.” Nori said seriously then began to tell Bofur what had happened to the Company after Balin had broken the news to them and after Bofur had left.

“Oin been up to his elbows in blood and gore. Gloin’s been holed up in the treasury undertaking the hopeless task of trying to tally everything. Balin is his sort of official advisor for now untill either one of the heirs of Durin wake up. Dwalin and Bifur are bedridden and Dori’s got Ori completely holed up in our tent after he caught some Iron Hill soldiers making eyes at Ori. Ori himself is hard at work making a faithful transcription of the quest. The only ones left unaccounted for then are you and me. And I, given my unique job spec is more…obvious suspect. My advice Master Bofur is that you lay low. Pretend this conversation never happened; go back to camp, trust me to handle this. It will be safer that way, besides—” he said with a small shrug.

“I’m much more qualified than you.”                          

“Hey now!”

Nori spread his hands, palms out in a placating manner.

“Peace Bofur, I mean you no insult. I’m quite impressed that you’ve managed this far and this much on your own and in such a short time. You took full advantage of the battle’s chaotic aftermath, well done. But if you insist on pursuing this you will get caught. But let face facts shall we?” He proffered his hands out to Bofur.

“Look at my hands.”

Bofur did, the fingers were slim, long and elegant, no doubt double jointed. His palms were only lightly callused not as rough Bofur’s own who had been a miner since he could first wield a pick axe. They have an air of strangely enough of cleanliness. It’s different to his own, though he has not mined in the whole year that the quest has been underway. He’s been a miner for a long time, the feel (almost a grimy feeling) of stone and earth is ingrained into his palms. Nori’s hands make a nice contrast to his own miner’s hands. Smoother than his, No doubt very clever and strong, he wonders how it would feel then these hands—”

“I’m not a crafting dwarf.” Nori said suddenly interrupting Bofur’s thoughts.

“Thieving, skulking around, eavesdropping, the dark and dirty business it is what I am good for, maybe all that I am good for.” He said with a self-decapitating smile.

“It’s what I was hired for anyway.”

There is a bitterness in Nori’s eyes, a bitterness that bothers Bofur that makes him want to wipe it away as if he could wipe off that dark cloudy look in his eyes polish it to be the bright beautiful gemlike green he knows it could be. Bofur is so caught up in this want that he almost misses Nori’s next words.

“Things like this, what you are asking for this is what I can do, let me do it then, but let me do it alone. I work best alone.”

“I can’t let you do this for me alone.” said Bofur echoing the stains of Nori’s words.

“You can, and you will. Master Bofur, look at it this way you can’t do this without me and I will only consent to helping you only if you stop.”

“I can try.” Bofur says with more bravado than he really feels.

“You’ll get caught.” Nori says bluntly. And maybe it is because the sun has already set so low that makes the shadows around Nori’s eyes darken so.

“Dain will find out the moment you try, he will arrest you and do you really want to your brother to see that? Will you make Bombur watch as the Iron Hill soldiers drag you away, force him to be the one that holds Bifur, who still can’t walk yet, down while your cousin will most certainly will try to help you, rescue you damn the consequences. Will you force the only family you have left through that?”

Nori’s voice is controlled, blunt and matter of fact but there is a pain around his eyes, an anger that shines out of them and Bofur wonders whether Nori is still talking about him.

“Dain is _not_ my king. He cannot arrest me.”

“He will try and he will succeed.” Nori warned then sighed. “Don’t be stupid Bofur, Dain may not be your king but he _is_ a king. There are only eight of us anywhere near fighting condition and an army who will listen to Dain and to Dain alone. Do you think they will listen to you? To us? Ay we are the Company of Thorin Oakenshield of course but we are not Royal. We are ten, only eight capable of defending themselves and he still has his army.” Nori sighed.

“Dain is in charge while I don’t like it, for all of his gall of taking charge like that, he has a right to it. Dain is of Durin’s line, even more than that he has lost three hundred soldiers in the defense of Erebor, not counting those still clinging on in the healing tents. Bard’s men and the elves, even with the assistance of Beorn, Ragagast and the eagles, we would have lost and lost heavily against those fecking orcs from that unholy alliance of Grey Mountains and ruins of Moria. Without Dain we would have all been slaughtered.”

Bofur held his tongue because, well because he knew it was true. If he went against Dain he would lose but the same would go for Nori.

“I still can’t let you do this alone.”

Nori snarled. “What then Bofur would you have me do to convince you? What is it do you want? Why are you so insistent on doing this yourself? Do you not trust me on this?”

 _I trust you._ Bofur thinks and he does really he does trust Nori but before he can get the words out Nori is still barreling on.

“Do you want proof? Ask me for something then, go on ask me for some secret bit of knowledge you’ve always wanted to know, or confirmation of some tidbit of gossip or whatever scandal. Like if Dain’s son had been conceived before the marriage, or the number of raven Dain has working for him right now. Go on ask me.”

He doesn’t need to he really doesn’t but the temptation is too strong.

“Is it hard being…doing what you do?”

“Yes…sometimes, what trade comes without hardship?”

“Do your brothers know what you are doing?”

“When I meant you could ask me question I meant about court about intrigue not _my personal life._ ” Nori says shortly, hotly and looking away.

Bofur can’t help a roguish smile.

“I know Nori, but I don’t need to ask about court intrigue I don’t want to. You on the other hand that’s another matter.” It’s the first time Bofur has seen someone get the drop on Nori and he relishes the fact that it is him. Nori had an ever so light blush on his cheeks and if he had more time, he would try definitely or flirt and see what he can do to make that blush deepen. But he doesn’t have time they’ve been out here for too long, someone is bound to start wondering where they are. Bofur needs to bring this to a speedy conclusion, he needs Nori to work with him. Bofur drops his smile and turns serious.

“It’s not a matter of trust Nori it really isn’t I trust you, I told you about what I really talked about with Bard and Sigrid didn’t I?”

Bofur gently grabs Nori’s forearm. It’s a gesture not unlike a man’s handshake or the way dwarves knock heads, something done between miners in greeting, trust or life threatening situations; It means ‘I am with you’. Nori startled stares at his hold then stares at him straight into Bofur’s eye but he doesn’t make Bofur let go.  

“I trust you with my life. You are my friend, Nori and I can’t let you do this alone. I won’t let you suffer the consequences alone. It’s either both of us at the same time or both of us separately.” said Bofur. He puts every amount of determination that he has.

Nori looks down at Bofur’s hand on his forearm and a rueful sad expression crosses his face.

“I can’t guarantee your safety.” Nori says softly, ruefully and Bofur’s heart swells and melts at the thought that Nori would want to protect him.

“I didn’t ask you to.” Bofur replied.

Nori hesitates but then his hand also curls around Bofur’s forearm, ‘I am with you.’ It says.

“Ok.”

Bofur smiles and feeling embolden by this, a little flirtatious asks.

“If I may have one more question Master Nori?”

“You may…” Nori says cautiously.

“When all this is over, would you care to join me for a pint of ale, a smoke, and maybe spin a few yarns…?” It’s a presumption that after this is all over they will be free, they will be able to enjoy the luxury of freedom to drink and laugh and talk.

Another type of light comes into Nori’s eyes, a cheerful little light, like a campfire on a cool night.

“Why Master Bofur are you—”

Nori suddenly dives towards him knocking him down it’s a rough landing, bruising his backside, again. Nori lands on top of him, straddling him and a warm clever hand suddenly slides up his shirt, very warm on his bare skin and Bofur blushes, squawks in utter surprise. Nori pays him no mind because while his hand was up Bofur’s shirt his other hand has grabbed a good sized rock and lobed it into the uneven terrain and another pain surprised squawk is heard.

“Who’s there!?” Nori yells.

And out of the uneven terrain unseen like them because of the stone and shadows a dwarf appears; by his armor and leather it is obvious then he is one of the Iron Hill soldiers, a rather young lad by the looks of it, one barely of age.

“My name is Korvu son of Orvu. I am a soldier of the Iron Hills, Second Battalion” The dwarf says blanching ever so slightly in seeing the position Nori and Bofur are in, the poor guard’s face turns red as a tomato. “My Lord Dain has requested me to find both of you.” He asks his voice turning stiff and while still facing them he has averted his eyes.

Nori raised an eyebrow. “And pray tell me why does your illustrious lord need us so? You’ve just interrupted us in a _pressing_ matter.”

There is a hint of a purr Bofur blushes, he knows how exactly this scene must look him being pinned under and a hand up his shirt, oh in the back of his mind he can appreciate it makes a good ploy, a tryst of a romantic sort instead of a ‘let’s-defy-Dain’ sort an explanation why they were gone so long and seeking such privacy. Ah well, it’s not every day he’s being pinned down by a handsome redhead might as well make the most of it.  

“Why is it that every time I am around with you I always end up flat on my back? Not that I don’t like it mind you.” Bofur winks, Nori’s eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise but Bofur’s eyes flick back to the soldier and there is a little nod of understanding between them.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” asks Nori.

“No, apologies Master Nori it cannot Dain has requested you and Master Bofur’s presence he wishes to dine with the Company tonight. He wishes to discuss some important matters with your Company.”

Nori and Bofur exchange looks, well then.

“What a shame I suppose our own _pressing_ matters have to wait then Bofur.” Nori says helping him up, in that moment Bofur can see a flicker of uncertainty of Nori wondering whether he has taken too much of a liberty going too far.

“There’s a place and time for everything Master Nori, besides we’ve been gone for so long I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” A lascivious grin accompanies his words making it clear that it’s not only food he’s hungry for.

“Aye, let’s go then.”

The moment the soldier’s back is turned Nori flashes another uncertain look at Bofur, uncertain still that his advances are not welcome or are they welcome only because they need an excuse. Bofur in lieu of reply grabs Nori’s hand and gently brings it up to his lips kissing the back of it.

They’re going really fast, much faster than Bofur would have expected, but in between holding Nori’s hand in his, and secret that they are sharing, what they will have to face but face it together they will. Bofur can’t bring himself to care.

It’s a merry trip back to the campsite, blatantly exchanging innuendoes with Nori and totally scandalizing, mentally scaring that poor stripling soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realize in the “Meeting between Kings” Gandalf is there and he is not a king but I kinda forgot. I love Ian McKellar so much he might as well be a king. Lol. History will remember the kings of old but a meddling old man? A grey wizard in dirty coat and ragged hat? Nah, he does not cut such a splendid figure against those with jewels and gold on their brows and perhaps that’s just the way he likes it.   
> I bet Bard wishes it would be like that for him too, but nooo he has to play king with the big boys. 
> 
> Exscript of conversation that couldn’t make it in.
> 
> “Won’t you get caught as well Nori?” Bofur asked.  
> “You doubt my ability? You think his soldiers can catch me?” Bofur heard the indignation and anger in Nori’s voice, ooh how those emerald eyes flashed again.  
> “No, I mean, you told me yourself. You are the most obvious suspect and when Dain finds out she is gone—”  
> “He would blame me first; he would blame me anyway, because Bella is going to leave with or without our help anyway. I’ll be damned to let her leave in rags; if she must leave she might as well leave in riches anyway.”


	11. In the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the morning before the Meeting of Kings this is the conversation where she tells Gandalf she wants nothing more to do with dwarves although that admittedly is just a very small part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY!!!  
> I really, really am.  
> And Um yeah I’m having too much fun with the flash backs. Here is a scared but strong, scarred but not broken Bella. It will be going back and forth between Bella and Gandalf POV I was having trouble deciding which one and realized why not both so sorry if confusing. Enjoy

She had not dreamed after the battle and that was thanks to the sleeping draught Gandalf brewed for. Her sleep was sound, nothing disturbed her, she had not wakened but when she wakened it all came back to her.

_The wind was whipping into her, feet scrambling dancing on nothing, on air, the ground fathoms bellow, the only thing holding her bruising iron hard grip of Thorin’s hands, her blunt desperate fingernails scrabbling at his arms, the raging blue madness, the sickness of Thorin’s eyes, the rot within them, eyes she had once so loved but could not recognize anymore—_

She could hear the wind now, there was no ground beneath her, her neck throbbed and his eyes that condemned her— No it was over she was—

_Screaming, the whole battle field was a cacophony of sounds. It was not a person screaming it couldn’t be; but as a warg leapt, snarled and disemboweled dwarf spilling red, red guts and scarlet blood on the floor, wretched howl in her ears. She didn’t know people could scream like that. She didn’t know she could scream like that, lunging forward to skewer to animal through its eyeball. It burst as it died splattering her, tasted dark and disgusting—_

She could taste it in her mouth again, bitter, warm and soft. Her stomach roiled, she nearly retched; her hands flapped about searching frantically for Sting. She had to force them to be still had to remind herself she was not there—

_The ring was cold, cold,_ cold _on her finger and ground was frigid beneath her feet the rocks were sharp enough to cut. The world was veiled and warped to a wispy grey. Her lungs were burning for a lack of air they filled with fire. But she had to keep going, there was danger, danger to the Lonely Mountain, where Thorin was, where the Company was, where she had last seen Fili and Kili. Gandalf had told her and all she had heard truly where the words ‘danger’ and ‘Thorin’ and she—_

Don’t think about Raven Hill, not Raven Hill don’t think—

_She had seen Azog the defiler she had faced him once and lived. She had been certain that was where she would die and was certain she would do so a thousand times, a thousand times over if only to—But now she was too late too late to do anything but_ scream _as the blade slid into his chest and she didn’t know she was running until she realized how close she was, like running into a wall only Sting was in her hand and—_

“Enough! Almighty Valar enough!” She screamed; her stomach pulsed. Her voice shattering the visions into thin air jarring her back to reality

Wait what?

No it couldn’t be.

The world stopped and she felt deep within her only what could be described as a _pulse_ when her hand flew to her belly. Pulsing, curl of flesh and she inherently knew then that she was not alone.

Oh Valar, how cruel it was to have such a thing as that break her from her waking terrors. What had she done? What had she done?

Hobbits were creatures of the earth more sensitive more a tuned to nature then perhaps the elves who were for most part of air and starlight. Hobbits knew earth, they knew dirt, their bodies came from dirt, and they knew their bodies. So like Bella’s mother before her and her mother’s mother before that, Bella was utterly certain she was pregnant. She had to clamp her other hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming.

She was not alone would not be alone for a long time. Bella felt it beneath her hands knowing once more the pulse of new life again. It, no _she or he_ was his child, undoubtedly his child there was no other, there was never any other, there could be no there for her. She was with child. Her child and his child, hers and his— _I cannot stay._

It was like an arrow to her heart. She could not stay or was she allowed to even stay? _You’re banished remember?_ A voice so much like her own yet too much like that voice riddling and hissing in the dark. _Banished, or maybe they will let you stay yes in a nice cozy little stone cell and iron bars long enough to give birth and wean the babe. Long enough to be torn from your arms along your heart and maybe your life—_

     She needed out, she needed to leave now, not Dale not yet but this room at least this bed. She needed to move, a breath of fresh air to clear her mind her head and her heart. She needed to run as if she could run fast enough to leave these visions that cruel cold voice too much like her own behind.

   Almost tripping in her haste she got out of her makeshift bed and wrenching the door open, to find a bewildered Gandalf on the other side.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                             


 

He feels old, not for the first time but it has been the longest time, he feels as old as he really is. The last time he felt like this was when he faced the necromancer who was actually Sauron. He still feels uneasy about leaving Saruman there, but he trusts Saruman. Gandalf gets out of bed with a groan.  

It is late in the morning. And still his bones protest in leaving his bed, his eyes feel heavy, even this ragged old moth-bitten mattress seems to be tempting him to just lie down again and sleep. But there is work to be done, there is always work to be done for someone like him. Two kingdoms don’t rebuild themselves overnight he knows it is not yet time for him to slip quietly away no matter how dearly he wants to.

Gandalf walks out his door, the first thing he needs to do is to find Bella to know her plans what she wants to do (what she will do anyway with or without his help) and give her whatever aid she needs. He stands outside her door and hesitates; if she is asleep he would hate to wake her up. But his fears are unfounded; the door opens and Bella gives him a startled smile upon seeing him apparently waiting for her, or at least what he thinks may be a smile. It is too small too stunted with pain and sadness. Although a good night’s sleep has done her some good his potion has made certain of that, her face is much too pale; her cheeks sallow, and her eyes…what was it that Bard had said? ‘Dead fish have more expression in them’ Well there is more than enough expression there now. Her eyes are dark, broken and the pain in them is so raw that he almost flinches. She is too skinny, her clothes, the same ones she wore yesterday hang loosely off her. Her hair is lank and unkempt. It is a terrible contrast to the sun loving gentle creature that followed them flying out of her door leaving her handkerchief behind.

He offers her his hand, (she is too small to offer her his elbow) and shows none of what he thinks or feels on his face. He knows her, by the way she stands tall head lifted and back ramrod straight she is trying desperately to be strong to be brave. Bella does not want his pity; she would never forgive him for it.

“Shall we go downstairs to greet our host a good morning? I think a spot of breakfast is in order.”

“Yes, it wouldn’t do to be impolite after all.” she says politely, an instinct of the gentle bred hobbit she is, ( _was.)_ Her hand feels cool and dry in his.

Bard is downstairs waiting for them along with Tilda and Bain who by their empty bowls and plates already have eaten alongside their father.

“Bella!” Tilda cries happily on seeing her, immediately pulls the hobbit lass to sit beside her and talk nineteen to the dozen of what she is going to do today, that Bain is going to bring her to the encampment. How eager Sigrid was to return to the healing tents and they are going to eat lunch with Sigrid even if they have to drag her, etc. It’s a round table, Bella has Tilda on her right, Gandalf is on her left with Bard on his left and Bain, the Bard’s son is seated between his father and his sister

Tilda’s chatter brings a true smile to Bella’s face. It’s a small tenuous one Gandalf notes as he takes his seat beside Bella, but he is grateful to the little girl, perhaps he will bring her some fireworks someday.

“Did you sleep well?” Bard asks breaking Gandalf out of his thought.

“As well as one my age can sleep.” Gandalf sighs

“And how old is that?”

“Older than my teeth; and as old as my tongue.” Gandalf replies. “Pass the butter please.”

It’s a surprisingly good breakfast spread considering their circumstances. The bread is a little dry but the butter is soft and creamy, there is hot tea, apples and a real delight, smoked meat.

Gandalf comments on this and Bard explains that it’s from the supplies of the elves. They talk of that, of lighter things while Tilda and by extension Bain monopolize Bella’s attention. It’s a quietly blessedly normal breakfast, as if they had not just fought a war, as if they are not seated in the ghost of what was once a most prosperous kingdom, as if they do not have the workload the burden of rebuilding, recompense, and debts to acquire, debts that are owed, the responsibility for the dead to be remembered and the living that have to carry on.

Forgetting, no not forgetting there is too much to forget, but simply laying aside their troubles for a while, for a beautiful sunny morning like this is bliss. It’s almost as if they are old friends having a picnic.

But the food runs out, breakfast is done and the dishes are washed and kept away. Bella has eaten enough to keep up her strength under Gandalf watchful eyes, too little for the hobbit she is but more than he expected. The air around them becomes tense; pleasantries are over now, business must start.

The Bardlings are sharper than they seem, without prompting Tilda and Bain bid their goodbyes, leaving the adults alone to talk.

Bella turns to Bard and Gandalf and says softly fervently.

“I need to leave. I need to go home.”

It is a relief to hear those words; she will never know what she means to him. She will never know how scared he had been when she disappeared to warn Thorin like that, to go back to the dwarf who almost killed her, how terrified he had been for her safety. How furious and in pain he was over his own helplessness, he could have _killed_ when he saw her dangling above the battlements like that. To find that he does not need to convince her to leave all this blood shed behind, that her Baggin’s side is raising its head and not the Tookish, almost stupidly stubborn, loyalty he only barely holds back his sigh of relief. Bard does not however and the Bowman goes on to say:

“Good, I’m meeting with the dwarves later today to see about Laketown’s share of the gold. With any luck the amount they give me should be enough to cover your expenses for your journey back home.”

A look of surprise flits across her face as if the idea that Bard would lend his aid so readily to her did not cross her mind. He smiles at her expression at the resulting blush on her cheeks for having been caught.

“You have done much for my people Bella Baggins and have paid a great cost perhaps too great a cost for you, to uphold a promise that was not yours too keep.”

Gandalf shoots a warning glare at Bard, the Bowman is saying to much revealing too much of what they do not know for sure, of what they only suspect.

Bella shakes her head.

“I was there.” Her voice is soft but then her eyes turn bright and hard her voice is roughened with rage. “ _I vouched for him.”_

“It is the least we can do then to assist you in any way we can on your journey back.” Bard says gently, showing no reaction at all to the small kick Gandalf gave him under the table.

“But I must ask.” The Bowman goes on. “Will you tell your Company?”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 


 

“Will you tell your Company?”

     No.

 The question is like a bucket of ice water thrown over her cooling her from her rage. No she cannot, she must not, she will not because... Because if she was being rational she would know that they would not know they could not know that she was with child, a child of the line of Durin. But she is not rational, she cannot not the suspicions the sheer utter terror that if they find out about her baby—‘ _Long enough to be torn from your arms along your heart and maybe your life—_

     Any rational thought process stops in her head in the wake of this terror. And even if even if they had forgiven her. _And what are the chances of that hmm? You stole the Arkenstone from under their noses, you lied to them._

The Company had not moved for her or against her. They had stood torn against an old loyalty and a new one. Would they stand still again? Would they not move? Would they be deaf again to her pleas and could she stand that? Could she break the pieces of her heart again?

   And there was a part of her that was whispering in a small voice, not the slimy cold one but one that sounded too much like her mother it was a part that she desperately ignored. It stated, _knew_ that if she saw them again, she would not be able to bring herself to leave. Terrible truth it was that she still loved them that if they asked the pieces of her heart she would tear them out of her own breast, but that was only in regards to what was hers and hers alone. She had faced trolls, stone giants, killed spiders, burglared the King of Mirkwood, and faced a Dragon for them but this was her limit to what she would do for them, this was it. She was with child, the child came first before everything and damn anyone and everything to the deepest flaming pit of perdition that would take her babe from her.

“No.” No I will not tell them. She said. “And I ask you, I _beg_ of you to keep my departure secret. Let me—let me slip away quietly, please.”

   “They care for you.” Bard said softly and gently. “I was approached by one of the Company, the one with the silly hat he is worried for you and would—”

“ _Please_.” She hates how close she sounds to begging but if it will get her what she needs, she is so tired of trying to be strong there is not much strength left within her.

“ _I just want—_ ” _to go home._ “I would like to return home quietly. I—I’ done. I want to go back. Nothing more to do with dwarves.” _Liar._ That slimy voice rears its head again. _You’re a liar and a thief._

And so she is, she is a story teller by passion and a burglar by employment, and so she is.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                


“ _I just want—_ I would like to return home quietly. I—I’ done. I want to go back. Nothing more to do with dwarves.”

She is lying. Gandalf knows that and he will not ask her why, because maybe she is partly telling the truth.

“Alright.” He agrees with her. “We will keep this amongst ourselves.” Bard makes a noncommittal noise and says sheepishly.

“About that, can I tell Sigrid? I trust her, you can trust her, she will keep quiet if I ask her too and even if I didn’t. Besides I think my children already know, it’s hard to keep secrets around them.” Bard admitted.

“Oh, that goes without saying, you can tell your children Bard. I trust you, I trust your discretion.” said Bella.

“Thank you Bella.” Bard says and she smiles at him.

They settle some of the preparations then and there; Tauriel will be told as well under Bard’s discretion, basically Bard is in charge of who knows how much and who will do what. The Bowman shoots him a suspicious look at this and Gandalf cheerfully ignores it, this will make a nice exercise for him in ruling and organization besides it is close enough to smuggling that it will be within the Bowman’s comfort zone.

They have to leave her; the morning grows later and both Gandalf and Bard will be going to the encampment to talk with the dwarves. Gandalf does not want to leave at first, to leave her alone as she is seems utterly asinine but Bella flares up with a quiet anger insisting in a manner that brokers no argument she can take care of herself; and Bard reassures him that he has his people keeping their eyes on her. She will be alone yes, but doesn’t she need her privacy?

And so they leave, Bella waves them goodbye from the door. Gandalf can’t quite stop himself from looking back to her. To her small form, her slim figure her pale face and dark eyes as she sees them off, scarred but strong, hurt but not broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make it that you know Bella realizes she is pregnant, Thorin is the father and a millisecond after she realizes this she knows she cannot stay in Erebor.  
> I actually have two separate renditions of this which are actually not congruent with each other. This is a mash of the congruent parts. I wrote Gandalf when I was feeling miserable I wrote Bell when I was not miserable, the tone for both renditions are different.  
> Next chapter will focus on Tilda. Let’s get some fluff.  
> But for the future chapter/s give me a guess which Durin will wake up first.


	12. Tilda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legolas snuck in, I don’t know how, but he did so here’s some Tilda Legolas and Thranduil.

After leaving the house and after checking on their neighbors, Da insisted that they make sure everybody was ok for now and they were. Lots of people moved into the old stone houses that were still standing some even as good as the one Da herded them into when the fighting was over. They were all ok; a lot of them still carried their weapons now. They have food, blankets and shelter, but the chief worry amongst them is what-are-they-going-to-do-for-winter. They all want to know what Da’s gonna do for winter _for them. Everyone_ is depending on Da for supplies for the winter. It’s not new, Da’s a smuggler Tilda knows what he does to keep food on the table, for others too to keep food on the table and make sure no one starves. But never this many before, and the amount that Da will have to ~~smuggle~~ trade for, he’s king now he trades for stuff not smuggles. It makes Tilda dizzy thinking about it; math was never her strong point. It’s Bain that reassures them. Telling them that Da is going to get it all sorted out and he’ll make sure everyone lasts through the winter; you’ll see it’s just what Da does.

Some of them, the healthier ones ask Bain about going back to Laketown finding what they can salvage for the winter. Bain promises to pass the message along to Da when they see him. It surprises her that they are asking Bain’s permission or rather they are asking Da’s permission. But Tilda is only half listening really. All she can see are big wide eyes, sunken cheeks, thin arms and legs all she can remember are the nights going to bed still hungry and the days were it felt like there was never enough. She’s not the only one she can see it in the looks they give Bain no matter how hard he tries to reassure them.

It takes them a long time before they are able to leave.

Battlefields, even post battlefields should be no place for a child but Tilda and Bain are no ordinary children, and they have Sigrid with them, in the end they were able to drag Sigrid from her work. Sigrid is practically an adult, Bain likes to think _he’s_ an adult too, but he’s not really. Tilda knows better, the falling fish head bucket prank was just last week after all as she reminds him. His ears turn red and it makes Sigrid laugh. They have lunch together just the three of them and the reason that Da is not with them is because Tilda _was not_ allowed at the Meeting. Sigrid and Bain could go if they wanted too but Tilda was _too young._ She resents that. One of the few times she has resented being the youngest.

But Sigrid and Bain in a show of sibling solidarity decide to keep Tilda company instead of leaving her in the tent they have for Da. Tilda loves them for this it reminds her that they love her and she loves them, and Da promises to tell her everything, so there!

Besides on the bright side it gives her more time to look at the elves and the dwarves. It’s too stuffy to eat inside Da’s tent, Tilda wants to eat outside where she can watch people. Tilda has only once seen dwarves up close and that was only after they crawled out of her toilet. And she for all Laketown’s proximity to Mirkwood has never seen an elf up close before.

   The dwarves, the elves are camped on opposite sides of each other; for the men most of their battle took place in the ruins of Dale, but even here amongst people that are not their kind, Tilda, Sigrid and Bain are treated with respect the young girl did not expect.

Most of the serious attention is given to Bain and Sigrid anyway; she realizes they are treating him like an adult. No one says ‘This is no place for children!’ or ‘What are you doing here? Don’t get in the way!’ Tilda hears the word ‘Dragon Arrow’ bandied about. She doesn’t think they are talking about the black metal arrow Da used to kill the Dragon. Bain seems to like it. His chest is so puffed out that Tilda wonders how he doesn’t fall over. She will need to make sure that he won’t get too big for his boots from this; perhaps another spider in his bed, to remind the ‘Dragon Arrow’ that he may have helped Da take on a dragon but is still scared of eight legged creepy crawlies.

For Sigrid they keep telling her that it’s really nice of her to work in the healing tents. They call her ‘healer’ and Tilda thinks she likes that. They keep asking her how the king and the princes are doing. She gives them variations of ‘They haven’t woken up yet. They’re still breathing. We have high hopes.” And they walk away a little less worried.

They are treating them like the way the people in her town would treat the Master’s advisors only not…slimy, not fake.    

As for her, she is used to people having to look down at her only with the dwarves she is almost the same height as them. She is used to the smile that says ‘Aw isn’t that adorable. ’ or ‘Run along and play now there’s a good girl.’ It would irritate her before, now she flashes them _her_ best smile and makes her blue eyes wide, or pouting depending on the situation does the trick as well, tears are only ever a last resort. It lets her get away with oh so many things.

It’s only the dwarves that stop by to chat with them and when they turn to her, all it takes is a bright beaming smile, some silly little question or a small little compliment (complimenting their weapons, beards and hair works best) and they _melt_ at her. She doesn’t even have to flash them Big Eyes level 3. While Sigrid and Bain are being treated with _respect_ , Tilda gets presents. She decides she likes this better.

       It turns out dwarves like to whittle when they have time, like how Da sometimes whittles himself new tools after a rough day dealing with Alfrid and the Master. Tilda ends up piled with new toys, little carvings. She doesn’t ask for them they just give them to her at the flutter of her eyelashes.

Bain stares at her toys with thinly veiled envy which only stops when Tilda promises to share the toys with him, and gives both him and Sigrid some of them. She noticed Sigrid looking longingly at the carved deer one of the dwarves gave her after she complimented his really big axe and how strong he was to carry said axe around. Besides she can’t play with all of these toys herself.

     It’s her growling hedgehog versus Bain’s snarling badger with Sigrid’s white deer as mediator when they see Da coming towards them. He looks grim, grimmer than usual; he’s wearing Grim Face level 2 and Tilda knows things have gone very bad at the Meeting.  

    

They go inside his tent to talk. Da keeps his promises and tells them everything.

For a moment the three of them just sit there in silence. Tilda feels as if her lips are numb.

“Trial?” she asks.

Da nods heavily and scrubs at his face.

“Aye, Trial.”

She knows what a trial is and what happens in one; Da, Sigrid and Bain don’t think she knows, she kept it a secret from them. They would be frightened if they knew that she knew, she knows this well enough not to tell them.

“ _But she didn’t do anything wrong!_ ” Sigrid yells, her anger makes her stand up Sigrid could never stand still when she is angry.

Bella is going to trial; they are going to punish they are going to _hurt_ Bella for helping them. It’s wrong, Sigrid’s right, it’s wrong. It isn’t fair.

“But you’re king! King is like a Master isn’t it? What’s the difference?” Tilda asks.

Da sighs.

“Actually there is no difference, only the that the dwarves insist I get a shiny crown and a shiny stick as king.”

Da tries to smile at her and she knows he’s trying to make her smile.

“It doesn’t work that way darling.” He says gently “I’m in charge of the people of Laketown yes, but Lakwtown alone, that’s all, I can’t command the dwarves the leader Dain, he’s adamant about the trial. He’s got more people on his side and more coming this way.” Da sighs. “I’ve been told that I can be her defendant, and prove her innocence.”

“She stole the Arkenstone. She admitted it herself. How can she be proved innocent when she herself practically told everyone she was guilty?” Bain argues.

Bain likes Bella almost as much as Tilda does. She knows this from the way Bain fussed over the both of them in his own big brother way making sure they got the softest spot to sleep that night.

“They won’t let her leave?” Tilda asks.

She doesn’t want Bella to leave but she wants Bella to be safe even more. Bella told her stories, Bella taught her how to tell stories. She remembers when Bella came back to them after all the fighting was over. How broken she was.

Da nods, his expression veering on Grim Face level 3. “They won’t let her leave until she’s been tried, which won’t happen until Thorin Oakenshield wakes up.”

“That could be tomorrow for all we know.” says Sigrid she starts pacing around the room no one makes a move to stop her.

“Who else?” Tilda asks. “Who else can, can make her innocent?”

“Prove her innocent darling, it isn’t so much proving her innocent it’s rather proving what she did was _right._ Gandalf for one won’t let them get her without a fight and Thranduil too I think, the elf king, everything we have now, food, medicine, bandages supplies it all came from him.” Da scowls. Tilda tilts her head at him in silent question, Bain uses his eyes.

“I can’t read him. The elf king.” Da finally admits.

“He’s old, ancient really I don’t understand him, or what he wants and I can only guess what he’s going to do.” Da ‘s brow furrows into broody face level 2 and even Sigrid stops pacing.

“He gave us supplies when we were ravaged by Dragon Fire but in all the years, decades Laketown has had in dealing with Mirkwood never once has he lifted a finger. He’ll stand with me in defense of Bella he proved that at the meeting today. But I wonder what he wants; how much he wants from us. He’ll be expecting gold from us because of the part he played in the war. And winter is coming, and even with what we have now and what little we can salvage from Laketown we are going to be heavily dependent on the elves for supplies until we can re-farm the lands around Dale. That won’t be until spring and none of us are farmers. It’s going to be a hard winter.”

“But the dwarves will give us the gold?” Sigrid interrupts. Da nods.

“The dwarves will give us the gold.” He confirms and chuckles humorlessly. “If anything the dwarves are almost as depended on Thranduil for supplies as we are. They can’t eat gold for all their want of it, and the bloodshed it has cost.”

“The Company, are they in favor of the trial?” Bain asks suddenly. Da shrugs.

“I don’t know, I only saw Balin at the meeting, although he did admit that without Bella they could not have gotten that far. He wanted to hold the discussion off until Thorin woke up, tried to convince Dain but Dain kept blowing him off.” Da shakes his head.

“Does Bella know?” asks Tilda. Da shakes his head.

“No not yet.”

“Does she want to leave?”

Da hesitates; he casts an anxious glance around as if there is someone hiding behind the tent walls listening in, Tilda doubts it, besides Sigrid’s earlier outburst they’ve been quiet and besides this is Da’s tent it would be wrong to eavesdrop on _Da’s_ tent.

“Yes. She wants to leave, I will tell you more later or you can ask her yourself, but she can’t leave yet at any rate without supplies.”

“Tauriel can get those.” Sigrid says immediately. “Some of the elves are leaving back for Mirkwood, it won’t look suspicious if Tauriel is the one gathering supplies, it’ll look as if she’s planning to go with them.”  

Da nods impressed with Sigrid’s quick thinking.

“I’ll leave you to ask her that then.”

Sigrid makes her excuses to leave, to go back to the healing tents. It’s time for her shift and Tauriel is there. Sigrid has never been one to waste time.

Bain and Da start talking about the people in Dale and stuff that Tilda doesn’t want to listen to anymore. Her head feels too full too stuffy though all she can think about can be summed into two words. ‘Trial’ and ‘hunger’. She wants to leave, she wants to do something. Sigrid is a healer, the people listen to Bain and she…she wants to walk for a bit.

“I’m gonna go to the healing tents too.” Tilda announces.

Both Da and Bain look at her worriedly.

“I’ll go with you.” Bain offers. Tilda rolls her eyes.

“It’s just to the healing tents Bain. I’ll be fine and Sigrid is there.”

“Tilda the battlefield is no place for a child.” Da says sternly. This is Grim Face level 1.

“I thought the fighting was over, Da it’s just a short walk away.”

Da hesitates but she uses the weepy eyes and he relents.

“Alright straight to the healing tents I’ll be there later to bring you home.”

“Yes Da.” She says obediently and goes to plant a kiss on her father’s cheek.  

It really is a short walk to the healing tents not long enough for her mind to stop buzzing ‘trial’ and ‘hunger’ she knows what those two words mean, she knows them very well. People don’t notice small things but it doesn’t mean that the small things don’t notice them and Tilda knows that to adults before Da became king, she is very small.

When Tilda reaches the healing tents she’s not quite certain which one Sigrid is in, it’s no matter there are not that many tents she’ll go to each one of them and maybe find someone who will tell her which tent Sigrid is in.

The first tent she goes into smells funny, not bad funny but strange Tilda has spent her whole life in Laketown she has grown up with the scent of water and fish, plant stuff is unfamiliar to her and it definitely smells planty. It’s an herby earthy smell…it smells like the plant Tauriel used to help the sick dwarf but stronger, it smells good, it makes Tilda take a deep breath. It’s not hard to see where the smell is coming from there are dried plants hanging in bundles all over. There are baskets and baskets of plants, and bottles with funny looking stuff inside. Tilda is so knocked back by the smell, at first that she doesn’t notice that the table also laded with plants is occupied by an elf, though he notices her.

“Hello little one what are you doing here?”

“I-I’m—”

He’s tall even though he is sitting down Tilda can see how tall he is, he has a crown of sticks in his hair and his clothes look nice, really nice and fancy, and he’s wearing jewelry, a shiny necklace around his neck. This is a very important person. He doesn’t bother waiting for her answer.

“This is no place to play.”

“I’m not playing.” She says immediately. He is studying her, it makes her stand up straighter but she doesn’t look away.

“What is your name?” he asks.

“I’m Tilda.”

“You must be Bard’s child then.”

“Yes.” And then emboldened because he asked her name first so doesn’t that make it ok for her to ask his name?

“What is your name?”

“I am Thranduil, King of Greenwood.”  

Thranduil, this is one of the few people who can prove Bella’s innocence, this is the person where everything they have right now comes from. Everything they have and everything they will need.

Her mouth is dry and she thinks she should leave. She thinks that maybe she is in over her head, that this time she has gone too far but the elf king smiles at her just barely and she recognizes that smile it’s the smile that adults give to children when they see them play, even if they are playing war, or a game of dares where the stakes are high. It’s the smile that says ‘Oh how cute.” It’s like the look people give to little kittens or even baby birds. ‘Oh how cute.’ How amusing, how tiny, how _small_ in more than just size, in thought, feeling and purpose; it makes her feel safe, people do not recognize small things and to him she must be very small indeed. The elf king probably only sees her as a silly little child that has carelessly wandered in; it makes her feel bold. There are certain liberties only a child has, certain things that only small things can do; Tilda has long learned to use them to her advantage.

She curtsies. “Well met Master King Thranduil.” The smile quirks even further.

“What are you doing?” she asks tilting her head just so.

“Making medicine, little one.” He says waving a hand over the dried plants and bottles; she recognizes that indulgent tone.

“Can I help?” she asks and nonchalantly walks to his side of the table going on tip toe to peer what he is doing. He stiffens ever so slightly

“Won’t your father be looking for you? Your sister? Brother?”

“Da knows where I am, both he and Bain are busy doing important stuff. Sigrid is also doing important stuff. They’re all busy, that just leaves me.” She pouts then lets her eyes plead up at him.

“Please can I help? I want to help.” She flashes him a bright beaming smile. He hesitates and she knows he is a gonner.

“You can roll up these bandages.” He says finally and hands her a basket of loose linen strips. She sets to work.

A very companionable silence stretches out between them. She is the first one to break it.

“You have very pretty hair Master King Thranduil.”

“Please there is no need to call me Master. King is enough and thank you little one.”

 

Legolas hasn’t left yet. Despite his father’s advice he feels that he cannot leave yet not in good conscience. There are too many of his people injured, lying in the healing tents and too many beyond saving, beyond their reach; those who have already gone ahead. And if it just so happens that his father has decided to remain in the encampment for a little longer, if he so happens to be in the same area as him who can blame him for not leaving immediately.

From the soldiers around camp Legolas learns that his father is in one of the healing tents reserved for making medicine, he goes there; he learned medicine from his father himself he can help his father make the medicines that will heal his people and perhaps heal something more.

He expected his father to be alone, so the high piping voice that issues from inside the tent comes at a complete surprise to him.

“It looks really soft and shiny.”

“Thank you, little one.”

That’s his father’s voice. His father is definitely in there, but who is he with? Pulling back the tent flap reveals that it’s a tiny blond little girl seated next to his father; he knows this girl, it is one of the Bowman’s children, Tilda, rolling bandages next to him and placing them neatly in a basket. Legolas can’t quite believe his eyes though he knows that his father has always had a certain fondness for small children, with so few births of their kind children are all but revered in their culture.

“Ionnin.” His father looks surprised to see him. The girl she tilts her head quizzically rather birdlike motion.

“Ada.” Legolas replies and for a moment they just look awkwardly at each other, it’s the little girl who breaks the silence.

“You were the elf that shot the orcs along with Tauriel.”

Legolas nods, “I am.”

“We didn’t get to thank for that.” Tilda says standing up and walking towards him.

“There is no need to thank me, little one.”

“But it’s polite; Da says it’s always polite to thank someone after they did something nice for you. So thank you Mister—” her face scrunches up its, oddly endearing. “What did you call him King Thranduil? I-on-nin? Thank you Master I-o-nin.”

“Ionin means ‘my son’ in Sindarin, elvish little one, Ionin is not his name. That is Legolas my son.” Ada corrects Tilda gently.

“Oh!” her eyes go wide.

“You know each other.” Ada observed raising an eyebrow at Legolas.

“Yes, I…defended their family when the orcs attacked Laketown.” Legolas puts in, he’s not certain whether he’s worded it in a way that won’t bring up the fact that he defied his father’s orders to go to Laketown with Tauriel and subsequently save Tilda and her siblings and by extension to Tauriel, some of the members of the Company.”

“Master Legolas got us out when the dragon attacked.” Tilda puts in. Her eyes become distant and her expression lost, she is lost in her memories.

“Everything was burning and burning all around us. Laketown was on fire. You were there.” She looks at Legolas. Her eyes, these cannot be a child’s eyes anymore, not when it is as if he can still see the dragon fire within them. He saw the desolation of Laketown once and Legolas realized now that he spared it no thought, too preoccupied with killing orcs, with saving lives, with Tauriel but looking into Tilda’s eyes he is seeing the desolation all over again, and this time through the eyes of someone who called Laketown home.

“I saw it burn. I saw it all burn.” She said softly. Legolas knows his father can see it too. What desolation dragon fire has left on this child and Legolas watches him almost as if he were acting without his own volition stand and goes to lay a hand on the shoulder of the small child.

“I am sorry.” He says softly.

She blinks up at him and it is as if dragon fire has never been reflected in her eyes.

“It’s ok.” She smiles at him; though the smile fades a bit when she hastily adds. “Don’t…don’t tell Da ok? Da won’t—I don’t want him to know.”

“Your secret is safe with me, little one.” Ada promises.

“As it is with me.” Legolas promises.

“Thank you, Master Legolas, King Thranduil.”

Legolas suppresses a smile at the way she says ‘king’ almost as if it is part of a name rather than a title attached to his father’s name.

“Ionnin, is…is everything alright? Is there something the matter?”

“No.” Legolas shakes his head. “I came to see if you needed help. Though I see you are already being assisted by a fine pair of hands.” Tilda giggles.

“There is more than enough work that needs to be done. Come sit by me, do you still remember how to make that salve for burns I showed you?”

“Yes Ada.” Legolas says resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He walks to Thranduil’s other side, the three of them just fit on the bench. Legolas on Thranduil’s left, Tilda on Thranduil’s right. They work well together, this is the most relaxed Legolas has seen his father in centuries, its no small part because of Tilda every so often asking a small question or paying some small compliment. He wonders if she knows what she is doing. Sometimes he catches her eyes and there is something that he can’t quite pin down for all the long, long time he has been alive, there is something he just doesn’t know, can’t figure out about this little girl. So he wonders if she knows and sometimes when she catches him looking at her, when she looks back at him, her cheerful visage dropping to something solemn he thinks she does.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried writing fluff…   
> As for Tilda’s P.O.V. well yeah if you want to complain at me about her weird psychology then go ahead I don’t know how to write a kid, mostly what I got was a mix of Lyra Belaqua from Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials Trilogy, the boy (I think his name is George cuz of the song Handsome George but I could be wrong) from the Ocean at the End of the Lane (Neil Gaiman) and the epigraph from the inside of the book by Maurice Sendak. “I knew terrible things. But I knew I musn’t let adults know I knew. It would scare them.”  
> And a little bit from the boy Jacopo in InkDeath the one who smuggled the bad nearly immortal dude’s white book out, said book that was keeping really bad guy alive.   
> My P.O.V. is that Tilda thinks her Da wants her safe and happy, that yeah if he knew that she knew it things that she wasn’t supposed to know it would make him sad. She is happy, she’s a kid but some stuff left a mark and she watches and learns.  
> If I get anything wrong I apologize and kindly let me know in a polite manner.


	13. Tilda and Thranduil and Legolas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter i really do it caused so much blockage and argh! whatever its over and i can get on with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I made Tilda a wee bit too smart for the sake of the fic. Let’s say she’s ten but looks so much younger because she is small. Just think of her as tough and precocious as Lyra but sweet and kind as Lucy think of her intelligence as a mix between the two of them.

Legolas listens to his father and the little girl talk and marvels at it. His father is more forthcoming with the little girl then he has ever been with anyone else even amongst the highest lords.

 

“I heard that the treasure vault of the Lonely Mountain is really, really, _really_ big. And full of jools and gold.” Tilda flaps her arms for emphasis spreading them wide as if to encompass the size of Erebor’s treasury with the length of her arms forgetting for a moment that she still holds a roll of bandages in her hand it falls, Thranduil catches it before it can hit the ground.

“Jewels,” Thranduil corrects her gently in the only way Legolas has seen him with the very young of their people and they are rare.

“And yes it is filled with jewels and gold.”

“Jewels.” Tilda repeats rolling the word on her tongue even as her hands roll the loose clean bandages back into rolls. “Like rubies, dimonds and sap-fires and emalds.”

“Its diamonds, sapphires and emeralds little one.”

“Di-a-monds, sapphires and e-me-ralds, the master had jewelry with that, shiny stones. Which one is which, how can you tell?” Tilda asked.

“Rubies are generally red, diamonds are the hardest type of precious stones they are crystals of many various colors; sapphires are generally blue and emeralds, green.” The elf king says. Tilda nods. 

“Green is my favorite color but red is my second favorite. The old Master used to wear jewelry; he had a necklace with a big shiny red stone maybe that was a ruby. Do you like rubies?” Ada shakes his head.

“Rubies are a bit too gaudy for my tastes, sapphires and emeralds are more acceptable.”

“Are there lots of sapphires and emeralds inside the treasure vault?”   

“Oh most undoubtedly.”

“What’s your favorite jool? Are there lots of those inside the vault?”

“It is jewel, little one…there are white gems, the gems of Lasgalen a necklace of pure white gems filled with starlight those...” Ada’s voice turns distant and his gaze is not quite on Tilda anymore.

“Those would be my…favorite.” He says softly

She nods her hands still their movement and she stares into the air no doubt trying to imagine what gems of pure white light strung with the firmaments of the silver would look like. Legolas has imagined those gems before, he has spent hours, days, years, and decades past wondering what they look like, how his mother’s hands would have cupped them and let them fall like tears, and then her gaze abruptly turns back to him.

“You and Mister Legolas have the same hair it’s very pretty.” She says offhandedly  
“Thank you little one.” says Ada, his expression is gracious in accepting the compliment and sincere. Legolas has so rarely seen his father smile, and now this little girl not lesser than ten summers passed manages to bring a shadow of what Legolas has spent centuries missing.   

“But you have sticks your hair.” 

Legolas inwardly cringes, his father puffs up ever so slightly.

“These are not mere _sticks_ it is a crown of petrified Beech wood. This is more than just a crown it is a symbol of my rule it is a representation of my bond with my kingdom, the forest of Mirkwood.” Ada says with a touch of indignation but really what can be expected from a child?

She studies him, studies the crown then says with a slight tone of doubt.  

“I thought crowns were supposed to be shiny. Da said they were. Do you have a shiny stick too?”

“A—shiny stick?” Ada nearly sputters. Legolas chokes back a chuckle.  

Ada’s eyes slide quickly to him, he shrugs discretely as possible, he saved the child yes, knows the child’s name yes, knows her enough to recognize her but it’s not like he knows how she thinks or how any human thinks for that matter.

“Yep, shiny stick Da says that being king was like being Master only that he has to get a shiny crown and stick.”

“I think you mean scepter.” Legolas gently corrects taking part in the conversation as his father is still slightly sulking over the insult to his crown.

Her mouth twitches ever so slightly.

“Scep-ter.” She repeats exaggerating the sound as if she is tasting the word.

“What is it for? Is it like a cane? Da’s too young to have a cane…Is it to hit people with? Is that’s what it’s for? Do you use it to hit people who don’t listen? Is that why kings have one? How come you don’t have one?”

“What?! No! It is not meant as a cane, it is a symbol of power, I have my crown and that is enough. A scepter is a _man’s_ symbol of power.” Ada explains, Ada has dealt with men before knows the meaning and importance humans people set in tangible symbols of power, on a side note they did almost march into war for the Arkenstone. 

“Power to hit people?” Tilda asks; tilting her head.

Ada gives her a strange look and shakes his head.

“No it is not used for hitting people, where did you ever get that idea?” he asks her perplexed she shrugs and says nonchalantly.

“Miss Bella’s trial, is it going to be used for Bella’s trial?” The sudden leap of thought from scepter to Bella’s trial startles both of the elves. She knows, so she the little human child knows but she is so young. There is only one likely person who could have told them but this is not a thing to be discussed around children.

“No it will not be. Whatever gave you that idea little one? And how do you know about the trial?”  

Ada manages to keep the disconcertment from his voice though he looks as much troubled as Legolas feels.

“Da told me.” Tilda says candidly.

“Da tells us; me Bain and Sig everything, but sometimes…” she looks away biting her lip in concentration as if she is calculating something in her head. When Tilda looks up at them her eyes are pleading blown big to their widest.

“Can you keep another secret?” she stage whispers in the manner that children do when they think they are being quiet.

“Of course little one.” Legolas watches Ada unhesitatingly lays a gentle hand on Tilda’s shoulder.

“Aye, we most definitely can.” Legolas reassures her.

“Da tells us everything he promises to tell us.” She takes a deep breath “But _I_ don’t always tell Da everything.”

Its understandable children do not always completely confide in their parents, Legolas knows this better than anybody. It’s not surprising, isn’t it also the same for human children?

Legolas watches Tilda’s lips press into a hard line as if she has just made her mind up on a difficult decision.

“I know what a trial is and what happens after.”

She says the words hurried stumbling out but her tone is tone is hushed as if she is confiding in them some great secret, but fierce a declaration if ever of ‘I have done something wrong but I don’t regret it’.

“I hear men talking about it sometimes.” Tilda goes on to say.

“They don’t think I listen when they talk especially when they’re drunk. Though Da says I’m not supposed to, but I did so I know.” she says defiantly.

It makes Legolas curious as to why there is such defiance in her tone; he racks his head for all that he knows about Laketown’s judicial system which is shamefully lacking.

“What do you mean Tilda? How does Laketown hold their trials?” Legolas asks gently.

“The Master used to have them back at—”her lips struggle and he saw them silently mouth the word _home._

“—at Laketown.” She sighs ever so softly and shakes her head once to clear it.

“A trial is when the Master sends his men the big burly ones and they take you away. If they try to fight…”Tilda shrugs

“The Master always sends lots of men and they fight dirty really dirty. It’s not fair cause there lots of them and they don’t stop they hit and hit and hit till the person can’t fight anymore then they take him away. I followed them once, I wasn’t supposed to.” She shrugs as if her disobedience is a small matter only.

“There’s a room the Master has for things like that with a big chair that the Master sits on and he tells the person or has Alfrid tell the person what he or she did wrong even if the person says they didn’t do it, if the Master says they did it, they’re punished.” She says bluntly. Her hands gesture animatedly as she talks work forgotten for the moment he can see the shape of the room from her hands the window she must have looked through.  

“Most times they just beat the person black and blue then toss ‘em in jail and they gotta pay to get out but for the really bad stuff there’s the dunking.”

“Dunking?” Legolas asks unfamiliar with that term.

“Dunking.” Tilda when they still continue to look at her puzzled her mouth falls open slightly in awe.

“You don’t have dunking?” she asks incredulously as if a world without ‘dunking’ is inconceivable .

“I am unfamiliar with that term.” Legolas admits.

“You make a person kneel in front of a big bucket water and shove his head in.” she says unintentionally brusque, She mimes the action to Legolas’s and Thranduil’s growing shock that a child has witnessed such a thing.

“It’s worse in the winter, they fill the bucket with _ice.”_ She shivers as if she c an feel the cold herself and shakes her head.

“It’s like fishing when they bring the really big fish out and they struggles to get back into the water all thrashing and squirming. Their mouths go really, really wide and their eyes bug out. Then the men beat them until their brains fall out.”

She could be talking about the fish or about the men those men that the Master would punish, her words could be seen both ways.   

“And you saw such a thing?” Thranduil asks his voice sounds faint even to his own ears.

Tilda shakes her head.

“No, but I heard it once, it sounds a lot like fish.” Tilda admits “People talk about it too everyone knows when there’s been a dunking.” She says solemnly.

“Oh.” Thranduil says and really what else can he say?

“They do it a lot to thieves when they try to steal the Master’s stuff.” Tilda says pointedly and both Legolas and Thranduil finally see where Tilda is getting at.

“They’re going to the same to Bella aren’t they?” Tilda asks fiercely she doesn’t wait for their reply.

“It doesn’t matter if what she’s done was wrong or not they’re going to do it anyway they’re gonna _punish_ her. She stole the stupid rock to help us, Da said if it wasn’t for her…” Tilda trails off her expression miserable and blotchy red with anger.

“I don’t wanna see Bella dunked!” Tilda yells. The poor child is nearly in tears. Thranduil moves impulsively drawing an arm around the child trying to comfort her. She leans against him and her tiny hand grips his arm with surprising strength it almost hurts. Words of comfort die in his throat when he looks in her eyes. She does not need comfort, her eyes are a deep blazing blue of fire as they look up to the elf king.

“Da says that you can prove her innocent that you can help save her. You’re a king too aren’t you? You have the crown and stuff you and Da if you work together you can stop them.

You have to help save her! You have to help; you will help won’t you?” Her lip wobbles her eyes fill with pleading. “You won’t let them take Bella away to be beaten and dunked?”

“I assure you the hobbit will remain unscathed no matter what the verdict of the trial.” Thranduil promises. He knows that this girl is trying to manipulate him, a child's attempt a rather good one for her age and standing. He commends it.

“You promise?” She sniffles. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”  
“I will not idly stand by and let an innocent person suffer.”

There is a beat of silence, a heartbeat too long and a look too solemn where Tilda says nothing, her head tilting to one side as if she sees something there that can only be seen at a different angle. There is no smile on her face, no words on her lips, and blue eyes that hide too much and say so little.

“Ok.” She chirps suddenly, “I believe you.” And flashes them a brilliant smile.

Legolas has no doubt that the smile is sincere that her belief is sincere, Ada will do his best he will defend Bella if only because of her service to them, if only because she is kind and innocent. But somehow and he thinks this a bit guiltily that if Ada doesn’t keep his promise, though there is almost no chance of that he does not think that Tilda would be surprised.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> I don’t like this scene, it played out ok in my head but on paper…ah well lesson learnt.       
> Tell me of the errors, but be gentle?


	14. Ravens I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mesh of Book and Movie. Hi I FORGOT THE RAVENS. MY BAD. Tweaked previous chapters a bit no need to reread just keep in mind that Bella sent a raven which was Roäc to tell Bard of the Dragon’s soft spot. In this fic Coräc is Roäc’s younger brother he is the one that fetches Dain’s forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was originally supposed to be Bagginshield but my head was like. You wanna take it from a Raven’s POV? Or Thranduil? Or Bard, Tilda? Heck lets throw in all three kids. You wanna go after the bits of life that happens after the war that a story doesn’t end merely because the main character goes home? Let’s go fucking crazy darling.   
> I was abroad. Sorry!!.  
> I’m having lots and lots of trouble trying to learn Khuzdul and using the Neo-Khuzdul Dictionary from Dwarrow Scholar how do I use it? More over how do I say I promise in Khuzdul?

Roäc was a raven of Erebor bred and born he had learned both Westeron and Khuzdul as a fledgling. He had grown on the stories of the Elders of Erebor of the dwarves who had once been their partners and friends. Who had fed them and rewarded them. Ah ever since the dwarves left gems, threads of gold and silver and precious metals were so hard to come by now. Roäc had drank in stories of finery that had adorned the once proud and lovely nests of the Ereborian ravens. They had to leave the Old Roosts behind when Smaug attacked those nesting grounds have been lost to them until now.

Roäc had been one of the first to return to Erebor, and he was the only one of his kind to approach the dwarves, when the dwarves came he was the first one who answered their call.

 

And now he with his brother Coräc stand in front of Dain the King of the Iron Hills. The Ravens of Erebor. have played no small part in reclaiming Erebor and he doesn’t want much, well by dwarven standards it shouldn’t be much. The King of the Iron Hill is a formidable dwarf it is hard to meet his eyes, it goes against instinct. Both brothers resist looking away and meet the dwarf’s gaze without flinching.    

“You want the Old Roosts back?” Dain asks.

 “Aye. We, most of my folk the Ravens of Erebor are willing to serve the dwarves again.”

Roäc gives the same speech he gave to Thorin, it worked on that king why not this one?

They can’t reclaim the Old Roosts without the dwarves help. The ravens need the dwarves to clean and carve the roost as they did before in the old days; nearly two hundred years of neglect doesn’t bode well for re-nesting.

Coräc caws his agreement “We are willing to take up old agreements old trade and tradition once more.” His brother says. Roäc taught his brother the short speech he had given to Thorin. It’ going well so far, Roäc cannot help but hope. If the dwarves flourish it means their people too will flourish and they being at the forefront it is only reasonable that they will be richly rewarded that they will be able to line their nest with ribbons of velvet, of silk, of materials that they have only heard of, that rival the softness of feathers but in myriads of colors. Coräc hops lightly unable to contain his excitement and Roäc cannot blame him. Their people will be able to decorate their nest with all the treasure it could hold not sacrificing comfort.

“Most of your folk?” Dain asks in a tone Roäc doesn’t like, that makes Coräc shuffle his feathers nervously.

“Some, very few are afraid.” Roäc admits. “But they will fear no more, the Dragon is dead the Bowman killed him. I was there myself _._ ” It is the wrong thing to say somehow it makes the frown lines on Dain’s face furrow slightly deeper. Why it would upset the dwarf neither raven knows.

“My lord, we are ready to begin once more partnership with Mahal’s children. Let me arrange a meeting, let me call my Elders, though their wings are weak their spirits are still strong, we will fly them here if you would receive them.” Coräc says trying to make up for his brother’s blunder no doubt.

“No, not yet. There is something I would ask of you first.”

Roäc’s heart sinks. Before he can speak his brother interrupts and is indignant for him.

“My Lord—” Coräc trying to keep his tone respectful and most of the indignation out of his voice. “As representatives of our flock, the Ravens of Erebor have proved themselves to you. My brother flew to the assistance of Thorin Oakenshield, I myself flew to the Iron Hills to tell you of the news of Smaug’s downfall.” Coräc argues. “Have we not proved ourselves?” The politeness in Coräc’s tone makes it less imperious than Roäc would have said it.

“Aye, I recognize that, and you have proved yourselves both of you to be the most trusted allies of the dwarves.” There’s a ‘but’ coming. Roäc can sense it; he sees Coräc brace himself for it.

“But I promise; if you do this for me I will meet with your Elders I will go to them myself to where they roost. Old bargains and traditions will be honored once more and your kind will be more richly rewarded for it. You yourselves will be very much richly rewarded for it.” Dain promises and the allure of the promise all that it entails is too much for them to refuse.

“Both of us my lord?” Coräc asks resigned. They are both resigned. Roäc thinks.

They had hoped that doing service for one King was enough but that king is comatose so now they have to deal with this one. But this is the last; they will make this one swear this one promise as the other one had promised. Just once more, one more show of trust, just this one last hurdle and they can reclaim their own home back; the promise of treasure does much to sweeten the deal.   

“It requires both of you; you will need to take shifts.”

This does not sound like Dain wants them to deliver a message, then again if it was a mere message he would not have used the Old Roosts to dangle like bait above their heads. It doesn’t sound good at all.

“What would you have us do?” Roäc’s asks.

“Find the Hobbit. Give her a message from me.”

Roäc and Coräc exchange glances.

They are Messenger Ravens their job _is_ to deliver messages, but considering who the message is from and who the addressee is...     

“What message my lord?” Coäc asks. Roäc knows the steel in his brother’s voice that he will want to be the one to deliver the message, but Roäc will be damned if he lets his little brother get hurt.

“Tell her she is to stay in Dale, she cannot leave until her trial, until Thorin wakes and is healthy enough to hold her trial. I want you to stay with her and make sure my orders are carried out.”

_But she saved them, you by extension._ Roäc thinks. Coräc again shuffles his feathers Roäc knows each and every of his brother’s tells he can see that Coräc opposes this and with good reason.                                                                 

They are not stupid they know that Dain is essentially asking them to spy on the Hobbit. “If she has a message for you my Lord? Shall we fly back?” Coräc asks.

Dain gives them the stink eye.

“No.” He says curtly. “Memorize them or have her write them down to give to me. Whatever messages she has she can give to me at the trial. You are to remind her of my orders and see that they are carried out. If she disobeys you, report to me. Only then you fly back to me. On the day of the trial I will send a messenger to relieve you of your duty.”  

What choice do they have? Not only their own prosperity that they are thinking of but the prosperity of their people it has been almost 200 hundred years an extremely long and lean period of time.

In the days of old, roosts were built into Erebor itself caverns on the mountain’s wall to accommodate the messenger Ravens. They did not reside completely in Ravenhill despite its name, and a damn good thing too. Azog the defiler had stationed himself there during the Battle of the Five Armies, who knows what those orc filth would have done to their nests, their eggs and fledglings and their very old.

The Ereborean Ravens of yonder times had nested in the Old Roost carved into the mountain face itself.     

The reason why they need the Old Roosts back is that they need more space. Hatching rates have dropped and though they are loathe to admit it their _intelligence_ is degrading so many do not want to learn how to speak anymore. So many have forgotten and Khuzdul is almost all but lost to them. Their culture had been dependent on the dwarves, their art of nest making on the materials the dwarves provided. That art is dying now.

They do not want precious gems, costly and shiny materials just for the sake of having them. Nest building was an art, in the same way dwarves would craft jewelry and statues they would build their nests with their mates. As an act of love, you would know if you had gotten a good mate from nest building, art that was a representation of the soul that would house their eggs their children. One can only do so much with twigs, and feathers.

They can rebuild so much. They need this. Their people need it.

“Aye my Lord we will do as you ask. But you promise; swear on Mahal’s hamer by his hands that shaped you from stone and by Durin your Lord you will honor this agreement.” Roäc insists if Dain breaks this oath his reputation will be ruined and as a king sometimes reputation means everything. Dain doesn’t hesitate.

“Aye. I swear, I promise.” He says. And it is done.

“Our Wings and Eyes are at your service.” Roäc and Coräc say together sealing the bargain.

 

They are dismissed and they fly off to do as they are tasked. They talk as they fly going to Dale where the hobbit was suspected last being seen. It makes sense to start there where else would she go for food and shelter? Who else would protect her but the men and elves she had betrayed the dwarves for? It puts Roäc in a sour mood.   

“I like her Roäc, she’s good and kind she gave us her hair for our nests! This is...” Coräc trails off.

“Spying on her, we are spying on her.” Roäc says sourly.  

“What will they do to her?” Coräc asks worriedly.

“Nothing for now, that’s why we were tasked with this. They are letting her be for now till her trial.” 

“And if she escapes?” Coräc asks. Roäc eyes his brother.  
“Do you think she will?”

Coräc ponders the question for a moment.

“No, I don’t think so she was very dedicated to the dwarves.” He says.

“Aye and what have the dwarves done to reward that dedication? They cast her away, she almost died.” Roäc says bitterly.

Coräc drifts closer till the tips of their feathers barely brush. It is his way of showing nonverbal sympathy.

Coräc had not been there when Thorin had almost thrown Bella from the battlements he had been in the air at the time and when he returned to the dwarves he was too preoccupied with delivering his message to Thorin to notice Bella’s absence. It was Roäc who had filled him in.

“I want the first shift.” Roäc announced. “There’s no need for the two of us to deliver Dain’s message. Fly back Coräc tell the flock everything that has happened. Tell the Elders the good news. Dain will meet with them.”

Coräc hesitates. By being the bearer of good news by default the flock will honor him and praise him first, even perhaps over his brother. He opens his beak to say so but the look Roäc shoots him kills the words in his throat. Roräc knows this and evidently he doesn’t care.

“Will you give her my regards?” Coräc asks.

“Aye, now go.” Roäc gently shoos his brother away and obligingly Coräc flies away after cawing.

“Stay safe brother!”

“You too!” Roäc caws back though Coräc has already changed course wheeling and doubling back. Roäc remains flying on wards to Dale, to find Bella Baggins.

 

Dale is still in ruins, but there are people now inhabiting the ruins, bustles of activity here and there. Roäc watches with no little fascination. It seems the humans are nest building too, out of the remains from these hollow broken stone nests, cleaning them and using wood to rebuild what they can. He could watch them, he could learn from them but he has a mission to accomplish.

He flies around catching the sights and smells of the people. Most of the menfolk’s head-fur is black or brown some have lighter shades that turn almost bronze in the light, but none have russet curls that turn to gold. The menfolk smell like fish, like water, like ash and fear and blood. None of them smell like or carry the scent of wild green growing things and the good earth after a light rain, but he watches and waits and flies around circling the ruined kingdom.

It is fortunate that the menfolk are clustered together, that the buildings acquitted for living are all next to each other or else in close proximity. He watches them curiously. Oh if he had time, if he was not on a mission this would be endlessly fascinating.

Most do not notice him; they do not look up too busy with what they are doing to look up but the young ones, the smaller ones do. It makes Roäc nervous the way they look at him. He makes sure to stay out of a stone throw’s reach.

It doesn’t take as long as he expected to find her. He sees her through an open window her hair glinting in the sunlight only she had hair that glinted like that, from russet to gold filigree, before she disappears from view retreating into the house. He could go her room through the window he saw her in, but he hesitates.

He knows he has to do this. Deliver the message keep delivering the message keep her here. Essentially spy on her, keeping her here even if she does not want to; isn’t that what prisoners are forced into? Is he her jailer now?

But he doesn’t have to go now. She is there he has found her and she does not seem like she is leaving.

Seeing her though makes him remember the first time he saw her. When he had followed the Dwarves to Erebor.


	15. Raven II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok here, the dwarves enter the mountain Bella goes in steals a cup full of jewels a trial run if you will just to confirm the hoard and the dragon’s prescene. During this time Ori has taken the initiative to try and call a raven of Erebor. So when Bella returns Roäc is there with the Company. Story in Roäc’s POV. I figure Ori would be the most likely to know being a scribe thing he probably researched Erebor's history as much as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have rewritten a bit. I realized for the fic to go one as smoothly as i like Bella and Roäc need a little bit more camaraderie between them, so added dialogue.

He had seen the dwarves enter the mountain at long, long last they were returning! But so few and one of them was not a dwarf. Yes admittedly these were the first dwarves he had seen in his life but they moved with a certain innate momentum, a style a pattern this one, one of them had a different momentum than theirs and was shorter than the others. So he had wheeled above them to learn what he could, to satisfy his burning curiosity.

They had climbed the face of the mountain to a ledge Roäc knew the thrush habitually visited. They seemed very attentive to the thrush how strange. He settled on a high ledge above them out of sight where he could see them but they would not see him unless they craned their necks up.

Now they were very…attentive to the wall attacking it with an almost manic frenzy.

They were searching for something Roäc thought. And then just as suddenly the activity slowed and died as the sun set and it became night. And the dwarves one by one left till the only one that stood there before the wall was the strange one, the not-dwarf, female the not-dwarf could be, she smelled liked it and she her chest was differently  proportioned than the others. The sun set and the moon began to rise. Roäc looked up surprised did he really stay here for that long? Damn now the Elders were really going to kill him. He was making ready to fly when below him the non-dwarf began making one hell of a racket.

She stood yelling at the directions where the dwarves left. He was not certain whether he heard correctly but it was something about, ‘moonlight’; rock headed impatient dwarves. Roäc watched the dwarves come back. He watched the door open and watched the not-dwarf leave, even as the dwarves watched her go _inside_. There was a dragon there did they not know that?! And they sent one of their smallest into the Mountain as what a little snack for Smaug? So preoccupied he was with the not-dwarf when he heard the call he almost fell.      

A red haired dwarf was the one who made the call. It was a whistle that Roäc thought only the ravens of Erebor had known, it had been passed down from Elder to fledgling, generation to generation. It was a whistle that the dwarves of old used to call the ravens to them to summon the ravens of Erebor for their aid.

He called back, he had to, Roäc pulled his wings in close and descended down to them. He perched on a rock; rather disappointingly the dwarf who summoned him did not have the foresight to stick out his arm.

In fact the dwarf who called him looked somewhat startled to see him, as if he had not expected him to come. Well he could be forgiven for that, he might have been just as startled to hear the call in the first place as the dwarf was startled when he landed. They stared at each other for a good long while.

The dwarf who summoned him was rather young Roäc thought he had very little basis to gauge the dwarf’s age but he knew enough to tell the difference between an adult and a child, he smelled a bit young not quite as old as the other dwarves behind him. He had reddish head hair cut in a roundish shape that trailed down to his chin hair which tapered off into two locks held by beads. They were good craftsmanship and made of a shiny metal, silver perhaps. Rather kindly brown eyes and his clothing was a muted shade of purple.     

Roäc let the dwarf look his fill of Roäc himself, glad that he had preened himself before he had followed them. Roäc knew how he looked, black eyes like stones and soft, glossy ebony feathers that in the light caught the colors of the rainbow along the fringes, in some lights his feathers could be a deep dark purple.

“Well does it talk?” A voice interrupted from behind the bowl-head-hair dwarf. It came from a spiky reddish head-hair dwarf who smelled like the bowl-head-hair dwarf, even looked like him a bit but his scent was older. Roäc puffed indignantly. 

“Aye, I can talk.” He said taking no small pleasure at how the dwarves startled in surprise.  
“Roäc son of Carc, at your service.” He bobbed his head politely.

“I knew Carc.” One of them black haired and silver streaked said slowly

“He is dead now.” Roäc said sadly. “I am his eldest child.” And in line for chieftain to the  Ravens of Erebor but why quibble?

“You’ve come back.” Roäc said not masking the hope in his voice studying all of the dwarves in turn. The black haired and silver streaked grinned.

“Aye, we’ve come back. I am Thorin Oakenshield Son of Thrain Son of Thror I’ve come to reclaim my mountain.” Roäc nearly fell off his perch. _The Mountain King has returned!_

Then he turned to his party and introduced them.

The young one who summoned him was Ori, the spiky haired one was Nori they had a silver haired brother named Dori. The dwarf with the Axe on his head was Bifur. The extremely rotund dwarf was Bombur. There was another red head Gloin. The one with no head hair but plenty of face hair was Dwalin and the one with voluminous snow white chin hair was Balin.   

Roäc memorizes their names he has a good memory.

“What can you tell us? Have you ever seen the Dragon leave? Is he still inside?” Thorin asks.

“Truth be told I have never seen the Dragon with my own eyes. My Elders say after the pillaging of Erebor it has not come out of the mountain for nigh two centuries. Although I believe the dragon is still inside. I can feel it.” Roäc said, he can truly feel it, and can feel it now, it’s something disquieting. Like the way the air feels before a storm only it emanated from the mountain. He wondered if they know, it had been a long almost 200 years after all. Thorin Oakenshield did not look surprised.

“We know.” he says confirming Roäc’s suspicions.  
“Did you come here to kill it?” Roäc asked hopefully.

“…Yes.”

“But? I heard you hesitate.”

“We need the Arkenstone first.” Thorin admitted. Roäc bobbed his head ever so slightly in understanding.

“Ah, that is why you sent the not-dwarf first?”

“Not-dwarf?”

“The long golden head haired one without face hair.”

“You mean Bella, she’s a hobbit.” Thorin explained.

“Hobbit?”

“Shirefolk, Halfling.”

“…” Roäc has never heard of this _Shirefolk_ , or _Halfling._

“What’s she half of?”

He’s startled when everyone cringes except for the one with the spiky hair, Nori who just cackles.

“Word of advice, if you want to keep all your feathers you will not refer to Bella as a Halfling within her hearing or not.” Thorin says dryly.

This only makes Roäc even more curious but he doesn’t ask; there are other more pressing questions.

“How will you defeat the Dragon?”

“Once we retrieve the Arkenstone we will send a message to the Iron Hills they will lend us their armies to take back the Lonely Mountain, our home.”

The Iron Hills, it is farther than Roäc has ever flown, but how much longer will it take for those who are on foot? He sees that they brought with them no Ravens or any other messenger bird with them. He could smell it if they did.    

“I could do that for you.” Roäc says volunteering his services.

Thorin raises his eyebrow.

“For what price?”

He likes this one. This one is shrewd.

“Ribbons of silk and velvet, threads of gold, gemstones and your silver hair.”

Thorin frowns at him. "My hair?" he asks. Roäc bobs his head.

"Your hair is the same color of silver but warmer, my nest will be the more insulated for it." Roäc explains and then takes a breath. He might as well make his case now not just for himself.

“It isn't just me your majesty, most of my folk the Ravens of Erebor are willing to serve the dwarves again. We are willing to take up old agreements old trade and tradition once more.” Thorin raises his eyebrows.

“So soon?”

“We have waited long, long time for your return. In exchange for our service, we want the old roosts back and for old partnerships to be taken up once more.”

“I can deliver your message to the Iron Hills, think of it as a show of trust between our people. Let me—us prove the Ravens of Erebor to you.”

Oh he is probably being over eager, over hopeful, over excitable. But the King has come back! The Prophecy is upon them! Every fledging even the ones who do not know Common Tongue know the prophecy know the legends and know the history the prosperity and partnership the ravens had before with the Dwarves. This is a chance to return to that blessed age.

Besides the fact that the Elders don’t know he’s here in fact he’s going to get into a shit-ton of trouble for this, nesting duty for _weeks,_ the Elders will yell his head off. He may have neglected to mention that ever since the Dragon came flying to the Lonely Mountain had been explicitly forbidden by the Elders. But he had this urge, this unexplainable, undeniable, inexorable urge to fly to the Lonely Mountain, it just felt _right_. He was not the only one others too, flew to the Lonely Mountain; but they did not approach the dwarves themselves only did. Coräc would have Roäc’s nest brother and accomplice in most things but unfortunately Coräc was stuck with he got stuck with nesting duty.

If he just so happens to be the one to foster again partnerships with the dwarves the Elders may be more forgiving on him, especially if he comes back with treasure. It will give him a little longer to evade their wrath at least.    

Thorin studies him and Roäc looks at him unflinchingly, slowly he smiles.

“Very well, you will carry out my message to the Iron Dwarves when Bella returns; as soon as the Erebor is restored the old roosts will be returned to you and your kin.”

 

They talk awhile of reestablishing relations between the dwarves and the ravens. It’s going good really, Thorin is very cooperative and it turns out Ori knows more than just the calling whistle although his knowledge is lacking somewhat, Roäc is more than happy to teach the young dwarf what he missed. But they keep looking back at the entrance into the mountain, they lad left it open although no sound came from it, Thorin kept on glancing back into it as if he wished to go inside, to follow the not-dwarf, the Hobbit.

Roäc resigns himself to having only half the King’s attention and directs most of it to Ori.

One hour pasts, two hours, now three. Thorin is extremely jumpy now; he has stopped listening to Roäc immediately, his entire attention focusing on the door. He wants to go in, wants to charge in. Roäc recognizes the same restlessness his brother would have in his feathers whenever the wind would blow just right, a thermal to ride on into the summer sunlight. He wants to bolt. What’s stopping him is the oldest dwarf, Balin ever so subtly blocking the entrance to the mountain. Not enough to block Thorin’s view but more than enough to grab the king and haul him back should he make a mad dash of it.

Roäc kind of wants to see that. 

But he instead he takes it upon himself, to alert them that whoever they sent down into the mountain has returned. He catches a whiff of something rather like sunlight, like good earth after rain has fallen and all the worms come out, but mixed somewhat unpleasantly with the stench of something dead and cold, and reptilian it is ashy and bitter but it is a person. There is the smell of warmth constantly underlining all the other smells.

He turns his attention to the door.

“Someone is coming.”  

Everyone turns, Dwalin lays a hand on Thorin’s arm. It is a barely heard patter of steps that reveal a figure coming up, coming through the entrance.

“Bella!” Thorin cries and Roäc can still hardly see this mysterious Bella as Thorin rushes to her, envelops her in his embrace and the dwarves that crowd around her. Though Thorin lets go of her, but he is still blocking Roäc’s view of her.

“Tell me did you find it—?”   

“The Dragon is still there.” Her voice overlaps against Thorin and sounding a bit hysterical. Roäc can smell fear from her though her voice is mostly calm. 

“Still asleep, huge big lizard thing, ginormous furnace with wings.” She flaps her hands for emphasis.

“We know.” Thorin says gravely.

“Oh, you know. Well, now we really know and ah, still asleep for now.” She puffs out a large breath.

“But uh…” She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry Thorin no I couldn’t find it, the Arkenstone it—it’s, the whole treasury was too large…I’m sorry…” She turned her face away from Thorin. Roäc can hear the heart wrenching disappointment from her voice. He wonders if Thorin is angry at her if the others are disappointed in her, how can anyone be angry at someone who sounds as disappointed in herself as they could be like that?

But they aren’t, Thorin pulls her into another hug and oh, Roäc can smell the pheromones from him. He wants to mate with this chit, huh.

“It is fine Bella, you were gone a long while no one faults you.” Thorin soothes her.

“That’s right lass, we don’t fault you.” Dwalin says gruffly.

The other dwarves voice their agreement; Roäc has patiently waited for them to notice him so far, he caws loudly to get their attention. At once everyone turns to face him and he can get his first good clear look at the Hobbit.

She is definitely not like a dwarf, though her stature is similar. She looks softer than her companions. 

“Oh.” she says. “There is a bird watching us.”

Roäc sketches a bow, though it is more of a bobbing of his head.

“Roäc, son of Carc at your service, milady.”

Her eyebrows raise but she smiles warmly at him; and curtseys to him in return.

“Bella Baggins, at yours.”

He asks her because someone has too, it speaks of the dwarves love for her that they did not ask first and instead were preoccupied with her.

“Miss Baggins, what was the treasury of Erebor like?”

“Please call me Bella and the hoard was well…” Everyone is hanging on to her words now all staring and waiting eagerly.

“Noisy.”

“Noisy?” If Roäc could gawk he would, all of the dwarves are even Thorin. Of all the descriptions Roäc had heard of the legenadry hoard of Erebor, _It shines it glitters it gleams mountains of treasure gold and luminescence. Gems upon gems a dazzling myriad of colors treasure beyond everything you dreamed of._ But no one has ever called it _noisy_.   

“Yes, like walking on egg shells only they tinkle instead of break. It was so dreadfully noisy every step I took felt like I was announcing ‘Here I am come eat me!’ I was afraid I would wake up the Dragon.”

She blinks. “Oh that reminds me!” Bella darts back into the tunnel.

“Here it was so damn heavy I had to set it down and I have not eaten yet may I remind you, this is to show proof of the hoard.”

She brings out a cup, a cup as big as the halfling’s head and filled with jewels, some gold coin but mostly jewels and Roäc is just blinded by the sight.

“Well done Bella!” Thorin praises her, he is looking at her as if she is the treasure rather than the golden cup filled with gems.

She blushes and Roäc could swear she just preened herself at Thorin.

“I got mostly jewels, they make less noise besides I like their colors they remind me of flowers.

“I will adorn you in the most lustrous jewels that would put flowers to shame.” Thorin says and Bella turns an interesting shade of red. It complements her hair. She looks at Thorin bashfully and they exchange these rather strange looks Roäc admittedly has had very little practice reading the faces of non-birds and non-animals but it looks like someone had just stolen their brains. Then the Halfling stomach grumbles loud enough that Roäc can hear it from where he is standing. The halfling’s blush deepens and she says defensively

“Well? I did say I haven’t eaten yet.”

 

They eat. Bella offers Roäc food from her own supplies bread and dried meat it's not as appetizing as a warm freshly dead carcass but it will suffice and he is touched by her offer. He likes her, he most definitely likes her. She insists on sitting next to him and pays him just as much attention as she does Thorin. He tries not to look obviously gleeful at Thorin's rather sulky put off expression. Although it's when Bella tries to offer Roäc water from her own flask that things get a little hairy.

"Ravens are _carrion_ eaters are you sure you want him to stick his beak in that?" Thorin asks pointedly at Bella. Bella hesitates and Roäc squawks indignantly.

"I assure you Master Thorin my beak is clean." Roäc insists.

"It still may be a bit troublesome, almost all the water is at the bottom of the flask." Bella points out diplomatically. She wishes the half empty water flask to illustrate her point. "If only we had a..." She trails of her eyes alighting on the golden cup set in the middle of the group and promptly tips it over sending the gems into a neat pile on the ground.

"Bella!" Thorin protests, the other dwarves make similar noises. She levels an unimpressed look at them.

"It's a cup." She explains patiently speaking slowly as one would to younglings when they are first learning speech. "A very shiny cup, a very, very heavy cup but nonetheless a cup and I have need of a cup." 

"It's not just a mere cup lass!" Gloin argues. "It is a piece of Erebor's history! A craft of the goldsmiths of yore, made from the gold that run through the very veins of Erebor itself--"

"And its a cup, you can't argue its not a cup, and cups are meant to be drank out of." Gloin still looks like he is going to argue. Bella throws her hands up in exasperation.

"For goodness sake Gloin if you're that upset over one cup I'll gladly get you another one, there should be about thousands of golden cups there. I saw a basin big enough to hold Bombur in it! Besides _I_ brought the cup out don't I have some say in its use?" She doesn't wait for retaliation and there is none. Bella promptly polishes the cup with a satisfied look on her face and pours water into it before turning to Roäc.

"Can you drink out of this?" she asks.

"If you tilt it a bit Miss Baggins I should have no trouble."

She tilts it and he wets his beak. Lo and behold the first treasure to be brought out of Smaug's hoard a golden cup, a piece of Erebor's history, a craft of the goldsmiths of yore, made from the gold that run through the very veins of Erebor itself, and Roäc is the first to drink water out of it. He almost chokes on the water in his amusement. When he has had his fill of water he looks up at the kindly hobbit lass and asks.

"Did you really see a basin big enough to hold Bombur?"

"Yes."

It promptly changes the topic back to Erebor's treasure and then to the retrieval of the Arkenstone and where it could be in these couple of last centuries.

“The hoard stretches miles and miles. In the treasure room, more like a hall really, there is no surface that is not covered treasure and I saw quite a number of chests in the area here and there. Could the Arkenstone be in a chest? Can you tell me at least where it was seen last? A sort of landmark or something.” Bella asks

“The Throne. It was last seen near the Throne it was one of the first things my grandfather sought when the Dragon came.” Thorin says softly Roäc can’t see his face that is fine when the voice is enough, the quiet heartbreak, regret and shame.

Bella says nothing but she clasps Thorin’s hand in hers and he leans into her ever so slightly.

It gets too dark for Bella’s taste and a torch is lit and Roäc finds himself blinded by the effect of its light on the gold on the gems, and in Bella’s hair. It is perfect this hair, the perfect material it is gold but not cold and can very much be easily woven around twigs that would make up the frame of the nest, cushioning it and insulating it but still making it shine in like sunlight. He stares at her. She catches him at it and says self-consciously.

“Yes?”

“Your hair is like gold filigree.” He says bluntly. “It shines like it but looks as soft as the summer breezes and as warm as gentle sunlight.”

She laughs delightedly.

“You Master Roäc are a flatterer; I did not know that the Ravens of Erebor were as poetic as they are handsome.” 

Roäc preens and Thorin raises an eyebrow at Roäc as if he knows what Roäc is planning. Roäc pretends not to notice.  

Presently Bella finishes her food, it was a meager meal. She stands and brushes the crumbs off her dress.

“Well I’d best be off again.” She says brightly but Roäc can see the panic in her eyes the sheer terror in them.

Thorin stands too and very gently he pulls Bella to him, so she is against his chest his hand in her golden locks.

“Call for me and I will come, even through Dragon Fire.” He promises.  
Bella ducks her head, Roäc thinks she nods against the dwarf’s chest. Presently she pushes him away and darts into the tunnel without looking back. Thorin stares after her longingly. Roäc sighs he can barely hear it but he thinks he hears Balin sigh too and Roäc settles himself for another long wait. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I thought about it, I just re-watched the scene where Bilbo is just shifting through the treasure of Erebor and pulling up random pieces of treasure like ‘Is this it?’ Nah, Is this it?’ there is even this part where he hold it up near his ear as if it would say “Oh Hi! I’m the Arkenstone I drove Thror mad with goldsickness, possibly his son too; and will most likely drive Thorin stark raving bonkers as well, at your service!” Like the dwarves expected Bilbo to just reach in and the first thing he would pull out was the Arkenstone, I mean seriously? Looking for one piece of treasure amongst lots and lots of piles of treasure? He’s not looking for a needle in a haystack. He’s looking for a particularly shiny piece of figurative hay in a hay stack.   
> Roäc somehow snuck in I didn’t plan him in there at first. I mean he was supposed to wait outside but somehow that didn’t fit. Somehow in the writing process he became what I was thinking a bit when I watched the film again, especially while watching poor Bilbo shift through that treasure.

Waiting was not his strong suit. Waiting was not the apparent strong suit of the dwarves either; the potential length of their waiting finally that dawned upon them. It was Balin who voiced it first.

“I think we may have overestimated our burglar’s capability in this venture.”

Thorin frowned thunderously and Balin added hastily.

“Through no fault of her own of course! But Thorin you and I remember the sheer size of the treasury and Bella is only one hobbit after all, one hobbit who has worked almost through the night without sleep…” The old dwarf sighed. “Even if the Arkenstone was near the throne where you saw it last, Smaug might have rearranged the piles of treasure; even if by the smallest chance it is still there where she searches, Bella doesn’t have Stone Sense. She might not find it as quickly as we would like her too.”

Balin made complete sense. Roäc stared in horror at the dwarves, at Thorin their leader. They surely didn’t hinge their plan, the most important part of the plan, the reason why they came back to the Lonely Mountain on one Hobbit, _one_ Hobbit finding one stone in a said mountain once famous for its vast colossal treasure that attracted a _dragon_ for Eru’s sake; as if the hobbit would just simply skip in and then skip out Arkenstone in hand. Yet judging by the meagerness of their rations, by the discomfort in thier faces, they obviously _did_. The dwarves clearly did not think it through this far, to the actual finding and retrieving of the Arkenstone.

The raven looks at them all rather disappointedly.

“You’re not very bright are you?” he asks. Before the dwarves can get angry and Roäc is forced to make a hasty escape Balin chuckles and says.

“Aye, we’re not the best and the brightest of our lot but we might as well be the most stubborn and stupidly lucky to get this far.

“You may have pushed out luck too far this time.” Roäc mutters.

“I would not be so fast to underestimate our hobbit’s skills.” Thorin says hotly.

“She got us out of the elf king’s dungeon’s after all.”

That piques Roäc’s interest but that story has to wait for another time when less pressing matters are at hand besides another niggling doubt has taken root in the raven’s head.

“Does she even know what the Arkenstone looks like?”

“Of course she has!” Thorin scoffed, “I’ve described it to her.”

“What did you exactly tell her?”

“It is a large white gem of unique magnificence. She will know it when she sees it.”

Dear Eru, what were these dwarves thinking? Moreover what was the hobbit thinking?! Going into the hoard _twice_ with such vague descriptions like that?

“Seriously that’s all you told her?” He asked scathingly. “Big white shiny gem, unusually pretty does not cut it. There have been _odes_ written dedicated to the Arkenstone’s beauty.” He straightens himself fires an imperious look as only a raven could master.

“I’ve heard it was as radiant as the stars, that it’s brilliance could put diamonds to shame. A white gem smoother than a feather with all the colors of the winds distilled into its heart.”

Roäc sighs, there really is no helping it.

“I’m going with her.” He announces. “She shouldn’t do this alone anyway. It will take a much shorter time with two pairs of eyes looking rather than just one _._ ”

“No offense laddie, You might give her away.” said Balin apologetically. Roäc shook his head.   
“No, I won’t I can be as silent as a shadow if I choose to, I won’t give your burglar away.” He promises. “It would be the last thing either of us would want, to wake up a sleeping dragon.”

It doesn’t convince Thorin and if Thorin is not convinced then none of the other dwarves are convinced. The leader of the dwarves stares down at Roäc his gaze harsh and wary.

“Why? Why would you risk your life like this?” he demands. “Why would you go into a mountain where you know the dragon is still alive?”

That is a good question. This is above and beyond than what any raven even the ones of Erebor would do in their service to the dwarves. This is a far cry compared to delivering messages. Why would he risk his life like this?

Roäc hesitates to explain. He has so many reasons to choose from. Maybe because of the history of the Ereborean ravens intricately intertwined with the dwarves, the rise of the dwarves being directly related to the prosperity of the Eroborean Ravens as was their mutual fall. These stories of history, he loves and hates for they remain just so, stories. The Elders dream and talk, and that is all they do. Erebor was not just the home of the dwarves. They do nothing and can do nothing to reclaim their own home themselves.

Maybe because he is in fact the heir apparent, to be chieftain of the Ereborean Ravens, as of now the Elders tell him that he is too young, too rash, too reckless and irresponsible. They tell Roäc this and their eyes tell him silently he is not fit to be chieftain direct bloodline descendant of Carc be damned. If— _when_ the Elders learn about this about him at the mountain directly at the mountain _in_ the mountain and he has nothing to show for it, it will only prove their point in their eyes and he wants to prove them wrong. 

Because while Roäc _is_ young, restless and reckless and rash; he has not lost hope. The Elders for all their talk of Erebor’s past splendor already have. That is the important thing. He has not yet lost hope. He is willing to risk it all to bet everything on this misfit group of dwarves and a hobbit-lass who he just met. A hobbit lass who was kind to him gave him bread and water from her own cup. He will bet his life on this ragtag group to regain Erebor, to regain his home and his peoples’ home too. It is probably the stupidest thing he has ever done but simply put there will most likely be not be another opportunity in his life time like this. He is reckless, rash, and young and stupid enough to do so. And if he dies, then he is the only raven to die, at least he hopes so.        

It is all of this and more but the reason he gives Thorin, the words that pass through his beak just as he flies into the opening are.

“Because she called me handsome.”

And he flies into the corridor into the dark.

 

_It shines it glitters it gleams mountains of treasure gold and luminescence. Gems upon gems a dazzling myriad of colors treasure beyond everything you dreamed of._ Was an understatement. Holy Manwë of the birds and skies, no wonder Smaug made his nest down here it is a _world_ of gold.

Roäc almost falls into this veritable world gold, but he rights himself just in time. It is hard flying here. The air is stale and does not lend itself lightly to his wings. He looks for her, hears her before seeing her, a trickle of tinkling noises. Gold coins and trinkets falling rubbing against each other. There, a tiny figure the only thing that isn’t shinning or glittering apart from her hair. He can see her moving in the distance and he flies to her on silent wings.

“Miss Bella.” He says quietly capturing her attention; making sure that she sees him and is ready to receive him before landing lightly on her shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses.”

“Helping you.” He murmurs softly. “Do you know what you are looking for?” Roäc asks.

“Yes, the Arkenstone.” She huffs. “Do _you_ know what it looks like?”

“No, but I have a better idea than you, besides two eyes search better than one.” He points out. She huffs then falls silent. They do not talk as she carefully tries to navigate in this ocean of gold. He understands what she meant by noisy, there is no way to step that does not send gold coins and trinkets scattering tinkling merrily this way and there.

“If we ever get out of this I want a few strands of your hair.” He mutters against her ear.

“If we ever get out of this. I’ll give you a whole lock.” She says dryly. “Now hush and stay with me. Just stay with me, promise?” There is something in her eyes, more than a fear and tinged with loneliness.

“Promise.” He answers her and her smile is as brilliant as the gold around them.

“Thank you, now hush.”

 

Although he did say two eyes could search better than one what are the odds that the Arkenstone is resting near the surface instead of buried under all this treasure? Since they can’t exactly talk freely, they have to resort to using gestures. Sign language is hard. It is especially hard between two different species with different appendages fortunately some gestures easy enough to understand and some that seem to transcend species.  

_This one?_

_Nope._

_How about this one?_

_Nope_

_Tell me it’s this one_

_Nope and holding it up to your ear won’t change anything._

_Nope_

_Not that one either?_

_That one’s_ red _are you serious?_

_Alright what about this?_

_Now that’s blue_

_This is_ boring

_…You’re fucking with me here aren’t you?_

_The world hates us_

_…Shit how much more is there?_

It was interesting at first he’s a raven he likes shiny things but even after the something maybe twentieth plus he lost count, stone he gets bored and he’s starting to develop a crick in his neck.

Maybe they would have continued many, many more hours in this fashion. If luck had not run out on them and if Bella (though it was not her fault it _was_ what she was hired for) had not chosen to pull out a particularly large hunk of crystal which in fairness seemed much smaller with just its tip poking out of the pile of gold they were working on. The resounding crash of gold was not _that_ loud. 

It didn’t stop the dragon from waking up.

The gold spilling down like a waterfall to reveal one giant eye.

Years will pass his eyes will have gone rheumy and his wings weak and threadbare but even until his dying day and the ravens of Erebor are long living like their dwarves; he will never forget the sound of rustling gold sliding off a dragon’s back as it breaches the surface to open air, s treacherous creature of the deep ocean of gold. The dragon’s head raises itself.   

Bella moves faster than he does; she grabs him around the middle and slides down behind a pile of gold. She then rather roughly shoves him into her coat and pulls something out. He doesn’t quite manage to fight his way out of the offending cloth, only able to just poke his head out— there is no other way to describe it, the world _changes._

It is blurry and cold around the edges. All the colors are muted and everything has a quality as if it is streaming by. Roäc once fell in a pool of water one had opened his eyes underwater and the world looked a little bit like this but less leeched of color.

He looks dazedly at the world, wondering what the hell has happened to it. It’s a short lived thought as he can hear gold coins falling in abundance like a waterfall, there is crunching noise behind him. The sound of large and heavy footstep a louder more menacing sound the cheerful tinkle Bella’s footsteps magnified a thousand times. A heavy hand descends on him keeping him in place fingers clamp around his beak to keep him silent. He instinctively thrashes but that just makes her grip harder, he digs his beak into her fingers. He wants out, he wants to set himself free. He makes the mistake of looking up. The Dragon is above them.

He freezes, Bella also freezes. They are frozen lying on top of a sea of gold.

“ _Well thief I smell you. I hear your breath. I feel your air_.” The dragon speaks and his voice low and terrible as it sounds as rich as the hoard of gold.

Smaug is above them. His face is too close, too close to them, so close Bella could reach out and touch Smaug on the Jaw on his large sharp ivory teeth and yet instead of devouring them. Instead of opening his jaws snapping them up Smaug moves away from them, the underside of his neck slides above them a muted rusty red. Bella sinks further into the gold. Roäc sinks his talons farther into Bella’s shirt his talons accidentally piercing the cloth. He feels her flinch of pain and forces himself to relax his grip.

_“Where are you?”_

Bella stands slowly not making a sound amongst the glittering coins her hand heavy on his neck and fingers clamped around his beak. It’s an indignity but one Roäc doesn’t mind suffering in the light of the realization it is probably the only thing keeping him alive. He can’t see them. Roäc realizes. They are infront of his very nose and he can’t see them. Why can’t he see them? Does it have something to do with how the world has changed around them? What hobbit magic is this?

The dragon’s head swerves towards them so close too close. Smaug’s teeth are larger than he is. Roäc can feel Bella’s clothes his feathers ruffled by the Smaug’s brimstone breath.

Bella finally runs splashing into the gold coins, a half stumble frantic run Roäc unashamedly ducks into Bella’s coat his talons clutching into the fabric for all he is worth but mindful not to pierce her skin. He can hear the dragon behind them pursuing them gold coins the sea of it parting and spraying as he _swims_ across its surface, the chime of gold falling, _splashing_  against his massive hide. Bella ducks behind a stone pillar presses herself in an alcove carved into the design.

“ _Come one don’t be shy._ Step into the light.” Smaug’s voice deepens with the command Roäc shivers, nestled in Bella’s coat he fights the urge to burrow himself in it deeper.

_“There is something about you. Something you carry_.”

The dragon’s long sinuous neck turns away from them goes behind the pillar they have taken refuge against. Roäc can still feel eyes on himself and Bella, he nips her fingers lightly she turns to look behind them to where the dragon’s head now is.

“ _Something that is made of gold. But something that is far more_ precious.”

Roäc can hear Bella whimpering her breath coming out it pants. Her hand lets go of him he nearly topples out of her coat. He saves himself in time and gives into the urge to hide himself under her coat. He can feel the tension of her body and her arms raise her hands move to each other, he catches a glimpse of gold on her finger and suddenly the world is back to normal. And Smaug can see them.           

“ _There you are. Thief in the shadows.”_

Has Smaug noticed that Bella had stolen a cup filled with jewels? Smaug’s eyes bright yellow fiery slit eyes fix on Roäc, he almost shits himself. He cannot sink further into the coat for all he tries to. This is where they die. This is where they will die.

_“What it that you carry in your coat? A pet? A little Snack?_ ” Smaug’s voice turns amused and mocking. 

“A-a friend.” Bella stutters, then seems to find her voice. “A good most loyal friend.” Bella answers her voice clearer now it does not falter nor waver. Roäc would be warmed by this, there is a part of him that is warmed by it but a greater part of his emotional capacity is consumed with sheer utter terror. “We did not come here to steal from you O Smaug the Unassessably Wealthy. He is my guide, my companion. We came here together so we could both gaze upon your magnificence,” Her breath comes out hard and labored her voice strained. Her hand slowly unobtrusively as possible tries to cover Roäc again with her cloak. “To see if you really were as great as the old tales say.” Bella says haltingly. “You see despite my friend’s insistent claims on how truly glorious you are I foolishly did not him.” Her voice squeaks into a whimper towards the end. Roäc says nothing stays silent but nods fervently nestled in Bella’s coat.

The dragon amazingly retreats from them, claws scrapping on gold. He stands before them to of all things of all reactions; instead of eating them then and there he strikes a pose.  

“And do you, NOW?”

It’s a fearsome image a truly most dreadful and terrible sight strangely beautiful but beautiful in the way a raging fire is, something to admire from afar preferably very, very far.

And yet all Roäc can focus on is on Smaug’s glittering encrusted with gold underside, a paler shade of red than the rest of his hide. There is a gap, a black leathery gap bare and naked, like a bare patch on a mountain. He nips Bella’s fingers hard and hisses her name.

“ _Bella!”_

“ _What is your_ friend _twittering about?_ ”

Oops, fucking shit. He’s forgotten underestimating the dragon is what will most definitely get them killed. He’s given them away they are doomed—

“He is chastising me oh Smaug the Stupendous, for my stupidity, my disbelief. The gold that covers you pales in magnificence to your _scales._ I have not _lost_ the opportunity of a life time to see such a sight of splendor.”

She talks fast and Smaug seems unbelievably satisfied by her answer to his stunned amazement. It isn’t possible but he can’t believe it but the fact that they are not dead yet is certain proof that Bella is outwitting or at the very least distracting Smaug with _flattery_. Roäc does not miss her emphasis on the words ‘scales’ and ‘lost’ and he can almost believe they may survive this. 

 “Truly, tales and songs fall utterly short of your enormity…” Bella says bowing her head slightly, paying homage.

“ _Do you think flattery will keep you alive?_ ”

Yes it is. It truly is. Flattery is all that is keeping them alive flattery and Smaug’s curiosity. “No, no...”Bella protests utterly sincere. She is a good liar, Roäc thinks.

“ _No, indeed._ ”

Smaug shifts his stance, stone and gold crunches beneath his claws and his tail sweeps across the surface of the gold. Roäc tracks its movement, it sweeps too close to them for comfort and there! Revealed by the sweeping tail the top most layer of coins brushed away it is what is most certainly is the Arkenstone.

He sees it before the dragon or the hobbit do. Its gleam, its shine, for all his scoffing it truly is unmistakable. Roäc tries to draw her attention discretely this time he’s learnt her lesson; nipping her finger gently and quietly. He knows she sees it when he feels her body stand still and her hand pats him gently on the head.

_Good Job._

Before they can do anything about it though; Smaug suddenly presses forward closer to them pushing his huge fiery maw closer to them.   

“ _You seem familiar with my name. I know the raven pet you keep in your coat annoying black pest, but I don't remember smelling your kind before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?_ ”

It’s a game. Roäc brushes away the insult of being called a _pest_. He pushes down the nerve wracking, sheer terror of having Smuag’s huge brimstone maw almost close enough to take a bite. It’s strangely easier to concentrate on his embarrassment with himself in realizing how long it’s taken for him to recognize that the dragon is _toying_ with them. The reason why he hasn’t eaten them is because they do not pose a threat it’s because Bella is interesting to him. It’s probably the first ever game the dragon’s played since he desolated Erebor.

“I come from Under the Hill.” Bella announces bravely.

“ _Underhill_?”

Bella nods furiously. She has caught Smaug’s curiosity now. Roäc can only hope she can hold it long enough for them to find a way out.

“...and under hills and over hills my paths lead. And through the air! I am she who walks unseen!” She declares bravely forcing bravado into her voice.

He could leap out and grab the stone but no it looks too large for him to quickly grab and in this chamber of stale air he won’t be able to take off quick enough before the dragon eats him, and Bella.

“Impressive. What else do you claim to be?”

Smaug circles them, like a huge confident predator does taunting its small injured prey. He is much to close now very, very close as close as he was when they were both still invisible to his eyes. Roäc wishes they were invisible now.

“L-luck-Wearer…R-riddle Maker…”

The thing about Bella’s titles from what Roäc can appreciate the part of him that is not rendered almost catatonic by fear; is that her titles have a ring of truth into them. That She has not bestowed them upon herself lightly. There is a story behind them and that in itself is a curiosity on even a dragon it seems finds himself enraptured by. 

“Lovely titles…go on.”

Smaug breathes in deeply, smelling them Roäc realizes even as they are smelling his horrible charred breath Roäc can feel Bella’s stomach clench against the stench of it. The dragon could just lean it and take a bite out of them, that’s how close he is.

“Barrel-Rider!” Bella nearly shouts.

“ _Barrels! Now that is interesting!_ ”

The dragon retreats a few steps back to appraise Bella to study her and leer at her for better effect.

“ _And what about your little dwarf friends where are they hiding?_ ”

How can he tell? How can he tell? Roäc despairs. Did Smaug smell it on them? Of course he did.

“Dwarves...” Bella says slowly as if just hearing the word for the first time. “No. No dwarves here. You've got that all wrong.” She shakes her head as if to say ‘I have absolutely no idea what on Middle Earth you are talking about. _Dwarves_ really?’  

“ _Oh, I don't think so, Barrel-Rider!”_ Smaug near spits at Bella, his long sinuous neck twists and turns it’s a strangely hypnotic movement. _“They sent you in here to do their dirty work, while they skulk about outside!_ ”

There is something wrong about the dragon’s words something that makes them echo inside Roäc’s head, a ringing that doesn’t quite hurt but makes him think. That’s true. They are skulking outside making them do all the work, and he doesn’t even have to be there! Why does he trust them in the first place? Why is he here?

“Truly, you are mistaken, O Smaug Chiefest and Greatest of All Calamities...” Bella says low and reverent and carefully inching herself closer to the Arkenstone. Her voice makes the ringing less loud. Roäc shakes his head trying to clear his mind of those poisonous words. He knows why he’s here, he just forgot for a moment.

_“You have nice manners for a thief, and a LIAR!”_ Smaug accuses Bella. He’s approaching them once again drawing closer and taunting them. _“I know the smell and taste of dwarves, no one better!_ ”    
There’s a tone of—of what is distress if it were coming from anyone but a dragon. What is perhaps distress is clearly mixed with malice and malevolence. Bella tries inching her way towards the Arkenstone again.  

“ _It is the gold! They are drawn to treasure like flies to dead flesh._ ” Smaug unmindful of them too busy spouting his woes steps too close to them almost squashing them sending coins treasure, the Arkenstone flying up from between his claws then falling, falling down the slope of gold.

“ _Did you think I would not know this day would come?_ ”

Smaug stomps again Bella slides downwards with the gold struggling to keep on both feet when she tumbles, Roäc half falls half launches himself out and takes to the air.

“ _That a pack of canting dwarves would come crawling back to the Mountain?_ ” 

Smaug smashes into a pillar and Roäc hears the resounding crash it makes on the gold and the floor. He realizes he could use this moment to escape to fly out as Smaug’s attention is focused on the tumbling Hobbit but that would mean leaving Bella here. Bella, who complimented him, gave him food, offered her water from him to drink out of his own cup; Bella who called him friend. He threw his lot with her the moment he flew into the mountain. He promised to stay with her and he shall.

Roäc glides low after her close to her as he can. She falls of a ridge onto a low ledge and subsequently get buried in gold. He squawks alarmed when the pile of gold does not _move_ and tries to help her though little he can do tiny thing that he is.

“ _The King Under the Mountain is_ dead _!”_ Smaug stomps his claw lands heavily right where Bella is only the gap between them saves the both of them from being crushed. Bella bursts out of the gold, he has to beat his wings hard to get a proper take off and glide into the air after her. She half runs half stumbling sliding falls on the gold dodging Smaug’s maw and chases after the Arkenstone where they last saw it tumble.  

_“I took his throne, I ate his people like a wolf among sheep! I kill where I wish, WHEN I wish! My armour is iron, no blade can pierce me!_ ”

She slides under a dais of sorts, he glides in after her. When she comes to a halt there, he settles himself on her shoulder pressing his beak into her hair nuzzling her. He feels her hand on him stroking his feathers as she treads carefully.

Smaug paces around the dais where they have taken shelter, large heavy footsteps crunch into the gold and scrape against stone. When Bella turns around a corner, Roäc nearly curses out loud. He is certain then whatever Valar is watching over them is mocking them just out of the shelter of the dais is the Arkenstone. It’s a terrible game of ‘keep away’ a game he has played many a time with the young ravens of his generation though never with such high stakes.

_“It's Oakenshield. That filthy Dwarvish usurper! He sent you in here for the Arkenstone, didn't he?”_

“No no no no no, I have no idea what you're talking about...” Bella huffs lying through her teeth eye still trained on the Arkenstone.

_“Don't bother denying it!”_ Smaug snarls. _I guessed his foul purpose some time ago!”_ A claw wraps around one of the pillars under the dais forcing Bella to retreat and hide. _“But it matters not.”_ Smaug’s head dips down to peer through the gap under the dais his head is too large to fit through but his voice is louder and seemingly more taunting for it. _“Oakenshield's quest will fail. A darkness is coming. It will spread to every corner of the land!”_

Bella closes her eyes presses herself against the stone. It worries Roäc the cold sweat dripping down her face. He nuzzles her again and worries even more when her hand does not raise itself in an answering pat.

“ _You have been used thief in the shadows_.” Smaug croons. “ _You are only ever a means to an end._ ” There it is again that awful ringing quality to his voice again a tone which makes the words unnaturally echo and ache inside one’s head.

“ _The coward Oakenshield has weighed the value of your life and found it worth_ nothing.”

“It’s a lie.” Roäc murmurs softly. Even as Bella is shaking her head a weary smile on her face. “You’re lying!’ She calls out defiantly.

“ _What did he promise you? A share of the treasure?”_ There is a mocking tone to Smaug’s voice, a darkly amused sound. The ground shakes the ceiling trembles as Smaug climbs claws scrapping into the stone and gold scattering.

“ _As if it was his to give_.” Smaug hisses. _“I will not part with a single coin! Not one piece of it!_ ”

Bella tenses, she scratches at his talons as if to loosen their grip. He sees her eyes trained on the Arkenstone, reads her body language and knows what exactly what she is going to do a moment before she does it.

Consequently when she breaks into a run he is already in the air, unfortunately it also means that when Smaug’s tail lashes into the gold throwing not only the Arkenstone but Bella herself into the air Roäc almost crashes into her saves himself by the edge of a feather, lands roughly into the ground even as Bella lands roughly into a pillar with a worrisome thump. He hops to her even as she scrambles to get up, takes his perch on her shoulder. Smuag stalks them with every announcement he stomps closer and closer.

“ _My teeth are swords. My claws are spears. My wings are a HURRICANE_!” 

And yet Bella does not seem afraid as close as Smaug is rearing up, posing for them yet again they see again most obviously when the light hits and Smaug’s gold encrusted underbelly sparkles all but one spot, one black leathery spot. She trades knowing looks with Roäc confirming its existence with each other not just a trick of the light. 

“If only we could make use of it.” She whispers to herself.  

“ _What did you say?”_ Smaug snarls.

“I-I was just saying your reputation precedes you O Smaug the tyrannical.” Bella says hurriedly scrambling back even as the dragon presses forward.

“Truly you have no equal on this earth.” Bella reassures Smaug gesturing madly. 

Roäc’s attention has drifted away from the dragon a shine near Bella’s feet has caught his eye, the Arkenstone resting still, unmoving. He feels Bella’s head turn knows she catches sight of it too when the silence between her and the dragon stretches for a beat too long. Unfortunately Smaug notices it too.

_“_ _I am almost tempted to let you take it.”_ Smaug says with a hint of regret in his voice.

_“If only to see Oakenshield suffer, watch it destroy him, watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad...”_ Roäc tries to convince himself, no it won’t happen. That Thorin won’t fall into the same sickness that ruined his grandfather that ruined Erebor. Thorin who held Bella and looked at her with love in his eyes, but Smaug’s voice makes it undeniable more than just a possibility, almost a certainty. He sees the same fear in Bella’s eyes the same uncertainty brought by Smaug’s cruel words the insidious way they ring inside one’s head.

“Bella?” he croaks. She does not turn to him but her hand lies gentle on his back mindful of his wings.    

“ _But I think not.”_ Smaug says darkly. Bella’s hand quickly grabs Roäc firmly around the middle and tucks him again into her coat this time he does not fight it.

_“I think our little game ends here!”_

He snuggles against her pressing himself as close as he can against her and closes his eyes.

_“Tell me how you choose to die”_

He feels the world change again and hears the audible snap of teeth missing them by mere inches.

When Roäc opens his eyes again it is to a roar of flame, the world is the same wavery veiled gray. Bella runs away from the fire away from Smaug up a flight of stairs into a corridor of the mountain. The world snaps back to normal and Bella slumps against the wall and pulls him out. They are certainly out of Smaug’s view far enough perhaps to be out of earshot against the notice of Smaug rampaging the treasury. He certainly can’t hear them with all the racket he is making.

“WHERE IS MY CUP?! DAMN YOU BARREL-RIDER YOU STOLE MY CUP!!”

“I wondered when he would notice.” Bella huffs wryly and winces as she hears Smaug roar and stone break and crash. Roäc shakes himself as if to rid himself of the last vestiges of that strange otherworldliness being invisible has set upon him.

“What was—”  

“You saw right? You saw?! She interrupts him demands of him an answer.

“Yes! Chest left side missing scale!” Bella near sags in relief.

“I am sorry.” She whispers hides her eyes from him. “So sorry but I must beg you a favor.”

“Anything.” He promises her.

“Fly, find Bard, in Laketown he’s the Bargeman and Captain; tell him what you saw.”

“But Miss—” he protests.

“Listen to me! Someone has to make use of this information! _Are you not a messenger of Erebor?! Go!_ ”

She screams. He hates himself; briefly he hates her for making him leave her though he knows has no choice but to obey her. She is right someone has to make use of that information, a chink in the dragon’s armor as it were.  

Roäc takes to the air and flies hard. He knows exactly where to go reading the air where the cooler fresher air leaks into the mountain.

On his way he sees Thorin rushing into the mountain has to fly a little higher nearly brushing the ceiling to avoid him.

“Roäc!” Thorin calls, the raven ignores him, ignores the other cries of the dwarves who are but mere steps behind their leader.    

The passage beckons him, the cool air and the song of stars sing to him. Roäc bursts out of the mountain into the night air flying hard in the direction of a blur on the horizon a small wooden town on the edge of a lake, to find a Bargeman Captain, to deliver a message. He is a raven of Erebor this is what he does.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I read the Hobbit I always thought that the Arkenstone was like well the gems of Lasgalen in the movie but of course much larger, the color of starlight. But in the movie it was like well the best way I can describe it is a galaxy caught it crystal. Not that it wasn’t very pretty; it’s actually even prettier than I imagined it. It’s just wasn’t what I expected.  
> Of course for the sake of the story let’s just assume that the ring made Roäc invisible too so long that Bella is hiding him in her clothes I mean yeah maybe it doesn’t work that way considering Roäc is a live creature but you know just for the sake of the story.   
> P.S. I hate this chapter more than I hated the Tilda one. I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone I’m absolutely making this up as I go. Lesson learned next fic I’m planning it out I swear. 
> 
> PS. A part that did not make it into the final cut. Please assume it never happened.   
> Roäc looks at the sword in the dwarf’s hands the sword currently pointed at Bella’s stomach. Why is Thorin pointing a sword at Bella? He loves Bella. He would not— Roäc looks into Thorin eyes and understands why she did not tell the dwarf that they had found the Arkenstone. Why Erebor fell and why Smaug came. Something has to be done; they cannot stand here like this, with Thorin threatening Bella and a fire breathing dragon on their tails—  
> “EXCUSE ME! THERE IS A DRAGON ON THE RAMPAGE IN CASE YOU’VE FORGOTTEN!” he yells. A Raven a true and proper Raven of Erebor’s first weapon is always his words. The danger of a fire breathing dragon who wants nothing better to eat them, is sufficient enough to knock the terrible light out of Thorin’s eyes.


End file.
